


Pure Gold

by Jordswriteswords



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Angst, Asshole!Finn, Commander Lexa, F/F, Family Drama, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Past Abuse, Smut, So much smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Top Lexa (The 100), stripper!clarke, stripper!raven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 90,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jordswriteswords/pseuds/Jordswriteswords
Summary: Lexa was just trying to watch a documentary.Anya was just trying to get her sister to have some fun.Clarke was just trying to get paid.This is the story of how Lexa meets the love of her life in the most unlikely of places - a strip club.STRIPPER AU





	1. Chapter 1 - Lexa

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, first of all, I'm back! I MISSED YOU ALL!  
> Secondly, this is being posted without editing due to the fact that DTHIAT has over 3100 kudos (celebrate!) and my Instagram somehow managed to get over 100 followers (double celebrate because I hardly use the damn thing except to chat!)  
> Thirdly, the POV is going to alternate because I couldn't settle on just one character's POV. I tried to do 3rd person, but it was REALLY difficult for me (aka, it sucked).  
> Fourthly, yeah, aside from the fact that my stripper's name isn't Clarke/Phoenix, this LEGIT happened on my birthday. 
> 
> HMU on tumblr/instagram @ jordswriteswords
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this. Check out the end notes for more info on this.

“Come on, Lex, just one drink.”

You huff out an annoyed breath at your sister, flicking through the channels on your screen and pointedly ignoring the blonde.

"It's your birthday, _please_ ," she begs.

You sip from your mug before acknowledging her. "I am fully aware of the day, Anya."

Taking this as a cue to continue, Anya falls to her knees on the cheap linoleum, hands grasped together as she crawls - yes - _crawls_ towards you.

She makes a last ditch effort to get you to agree, and you know it's coming long before it happens, and you know that you're going to cave anyway, so you bite down on your bottom lip to give yourself just a _moment_ to pretend you have a backbone.

Anya pouts.

 _That_ _bitch_.

You sigh. “Honestly, Anya, I have _zero_ interest.”

“Who the hell is _not_ interested in beautiful women?” Anya snaps, jumping to her feet with a speed that her skinny jeans should not have allowed. Her combat boots thump heavily against the ground and you've already let your mind wander to how long before the neighbour beneath you bangs on the ceiling.

Anya's indignance is blinding in it's clarity.

Because, really, who _isn't_ interested in beautiful women?

“I never said I wasn't interested in beautiful women, I said I wasn't interested in watching _naked women on stage_.” You tug at the sleeve of your hoodie and immediately scold yourself for doing so. It's one of your tells and you know it; Anya knows it, too.

You let out an annoyed sigh; not sure if it's directed towards yourself or your sister.

“It'll be fun!”

You snort. “It'll be embarrassing. And _pervy_.” Your cheeks blaze with a warm pink.

“What about all your feminist shit -- these girls are making money by flaunting the patriarchal system. They're geniuses, Lex.”

Obviously, your sister is right; however… “I never said they weren't, but --,”

Anya lets out a dramatic groan. You roll your eyes. “You haven't been out of the house in _months,_ Squirt.”

You shift uncomfortably, continuously picking at the hem of your sleeve until it frays under your fingernails. You know you've fallen further into a slump; this time of year weighs heavily on you. It always has.  Guilt crawls lazily through your bones, coating you with a heaviness from the inside-out. “Don't call me that," is all you can say, and the guilt is palpable as your tongue slurs your response.

Anya reaches across the table and places a hand on your knee. Her eyes are soft and her touch is even softer. It makes you squirm. “Come out with me, Lex, it'll be good for you. It's your fucking _birthday,_ you dumb fuck.” And just like that, the softness is gone. And rightly so; it was starting to creep you out.

Anya's eyebrows are slowly crawling up her forehead as you silently stare at her, mulling over whether or not you would be able to worm your way out of this. By the time they reach the pinnacle of her head, nearly disappearing in her hairline, you murmur, “Just one drink," only to immediately roll your eyes when Anya fist pumps.

“Perfect. One drink, I promise.” Anya coughs obnoxiously and trails off, tapping on her phone and doing that _thing_ with her eyes whenever she's trying to hide something from you.

“What was that?” the amusement in your voice is not lost on either of you. You're _excited_ and you know it. And so does Anya.

Because, really, who _doesn't_ love beautiful women?

“Nothing, nothing, just calling an Uber.” She stands and marches into your room and you’re left wondering what disaster you’ve just agreed to partake in. It takes a loud, “fuck, Lexa!” for you to snap out of your thoughts and join your sister in the bedroom.

By the time you make it, half your clothes are on the floor and Anya is scowling at all of it. “Would it kill you to wear something other than _flannel_?”

"I happen to like flan - wait, seriously, what did you say earlier?" You ask, picking up a discarded shirt. You fold it neatly, smiling at the crisp corners while you lay it on your bed. When you look back at the pile, you grimace. You really _do_ own a lot of flannel.

You pin your sister with a glare, hands on your hips as one eyebrow cocks. You know she hasn't answered you yet, and you know that that is never a good sign.

Anya smiles cheekily, balling yet another flannel shirt in her hands. She throws it on the floor as she breathes out in a rush, “Just _one_ drink… and _one_ lap dance. And you can't even say no because I'm going to pay for it. It's your birthday, you _can't_ say no.”

You blink several times, processing the words that were just spat at you. When it registers _lap dance,_ you groan and fall back onto your mattress. Anya is still blathering on about it being your birthday and that you deserve it and all kinds of nonsense, but you can’t hear any of it over your own pitiful groaning and the noise of you pulling your dark grey duvet over your head. You hope that when you re-emerge for air that your sister would have somehow disapparated.

Almost as if on cue, the heavy weight of what you know to be a shoe thunks against your head.

"Get up, it's time to turn your party of pity into a party of titties."

_Party of --_

You sigh.

This is going to be a long night.

***

From the outside, the classily named strip club, Pure Gold, looks like an abandoned building. Nothing adorns the dark brown brick of the exterior. If it weren't for the two bouncers steadily smoking to the side; or the heavy bass that sounds through the open door whenever someone exits, you would think that you were at the wrong place.

But you’re _not_ at the wrong place. You’re definitely about to walk into a strip club for your twenty-ninth birthday with your sister at your side.

It’s like a comedy in the making.

You take a nervous breath before exiting the sketchy Uber (seriously, the dude was just awkwardly staring at you and your sister in the rearview). You tried to protest when you saw the pile of junk pull up to your apartment, but Anya cut you off, resolute in the fact that you were,  _“not for the ever-loving fuck,”_ driving tonight. You shuffle your feet along the pavement, kicking imaginary pebbles with your combat boots while adjusting your black skinny jeans and dark blue button up Anya demanded that you wear under your (her) leather jacket. You didn’t understand all the hype about dressing up to go to a place where the employees themselves did not care to wear anything in particular. Hell, they didn’t care to wear _anything at all._

“Welcome, ladies,” the stockier of the two bouncers greets. He puts the butt of his cigarette out against the brick and scans your IDs. “Enjoy,” he dismisses almost abruptly, completely unperturbed by the anxiety radiating from you. It’s alarming in it’s normalcy.

Once inside, you come to a stumbling halt, causing a cursing Anya to slam into your back. You let your eyes wander from one end of the club to the other. It's relatively full, with strippers playing pool with some gentlemen to the far right; a U shaped stage in the middle with a pole on either end (and currently one dancer grinding back on one of said poles); and sections with tables littering the middle and to the left side of the stage. There are strippers walking between tables; bringing drinks and flirting, and you feel awkward at how _normal_ it all seems. No one bats an eye at the sheer level of skin on display. You spot a DJ booth sits to the back of the stage where the girls emerge from and when one of them smiles at you from across the room, you wonder what you would have to do to be able to hide back there for the night.

“Come on,” Anya says, pulling you along by your sleeve.

She guides you over to a small table directly at the edge of one end of the U shaped stage. Directly in front of a pole. Directly in front of the pole that the current dancer is on - upside down.

The stripper is a tanned woman with long brown hair, tied back high on her head. It allows the crowd to see just how striking her cheekbones are, and the cut if her jawline.

She is stunning.

And she is very, _very_ _naked._

Her thighs grip the silver pole as her body slowly turns and exposes the sight of her full breasts and toned stomach.

“Fuck,” Anya squeaks. "We came just in time."

You want to strangle your sister for bringing you to this particular spot. There is zero chance of you hiding anywhere; but, when you cast a glance over to your sister, her cheeks are slowly darkening enough to be noticeable in the dimly lit club. You decide that staring at your sister getting hot and bothered by a stripper is a bit awkward in itself, and sit down.

When you turn to speak to Anya a full minute later, you realize that she is still standing, mouth agape and staring intently at the stage. You yank her down by her sleeve hard enough that she almost falls into your lap. “You look like you're about to come alright. You're drooling.”

“She's gorgeous.” Anya's eyes trace the curve of the woman's hips as she dismounts and bends over, giving a full view of her ass and her sex to the crowd.

The Latina casts a glance over her shoulder at you both, and smirks when she catches your eye. “I can hear you, you know. And yes, thank you for noticing just how perfect this ass is.” She twerks her ass into the air, and Anya squeaks again and you wonder if you’re actually adopted.

The song ends, and the dancer blows a kiss at your sister before striding away with purposeful steps.

“Give it up for Raven, everybody,” the DJ announces over the speaker.

“Raven,” Anya whispers, still in a lust-induced haze.

“Jesus, Anya, get a grip,” You nudge her with her elbow and chuckle.

“My grip is just fine, thank you,” Anya retorts, eyes falling to the white-knuckles she has from squeezing the table's edge. She clears her throat, relaxes her hands and avoids your knowing smirk. She is almost more of a loser than you.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Anya pulls something shiny out if her handbag, a sly smirk on her face. Your eyes widen the second the lights glint off the shiny plastic. Before you can even imagine swatting at her hands, Anya has you in some kind of a chokehold while she plops the silver tiara on your head. She only let's go when you stop squirming, tapping her shoulder and husking out a barely audible “Uncle”. After you right yourself with an annoyed huff, you adjust the crown to sit proudly on your head -- as if it didn’t have, “BIRTHDAY GIRL” scrawled across it.

Anya lets out a bark of a laugh and flags down the closest waitress. The young lady smiles at you, clearly suppressing a laugh at your crown, and your eyes divert to the stage in embarrassment.

“Welcome Phoenix to the stage, everyone,” the deep voice of the DJ booms over the speaker. The lights on the stage flash from neon blue to red and back again as a curvy, pale blonde slowly steps onto the stage. She has blonde hair that ends just below her chin, and is in a two piece white bikini and six-inch clear heels.  As she approaches, you catch a glimpse of lightly coloured eyes, a dimpled chin, and a freckle that is just above the corner of her mouth.

And, _oh God_ , this is a lot to take in at once.

Her movements are slow as she approaches, and you nearly pass out when you see her grip the pole with a - _is that a… it's -_  you shake your head and laugh when you realize that she is wiping down the pole with a _wet-wipe_.  

Except, the longer it goes on and the more sensuality she puts into it, the hotter it gets under your collar.

"I didn't know cleaning could be so sexy," Anya jokes, but the crack in her voice makes it clear that she's struggling to remain composed. Whatever reply you had - if you can even call your blithering mumble a reply - dies in her throat. All you can do is nod in agreeance, knowing full well that you are far from composed yourself.

When the _fuck_ did cleaning become a turn on?

A sudden heat blooms at the base of your spine as the blonde looks up at that exact moment to catch your wanton gaze. Phoenix smirks at your table before turning to walk away, her hips swaying seductively, and your head is helplessly bouncing with the movement.

“You were saying something about getting a grip?” Anya teases, but you're too far gone watching the girl -- Phoenix -- move from one end of the stage to the other. She's still cleaning and you're _still_ trying to figure out when the idea of a French maid costume started doing it for you.

Phoenix grazes her fingers around the now clean pole at the other end of the U shaped stage before dropping into a squat at the base of it. She stands slowly, pulling her body close to the prop, left hand still stroking it up and down as she grinds her mound against it in time with the beat.

Honestly, the cleanliness of this place is really blowing your mind right now.

She turns slowly and arches her back to press against the pole. With her hands above her head, she slides her back into an arch, then bends forward at the waist, letting the cool metal rod rub up and down between her thighs.

You have never wanted to be an inanimate object more in your life. You blame the wet-wipe for starting this all.

You’re so enraptured by the dancer on stage that you hardly notice the beer being placed down in front of you until the chuckle of the waitress pulls you out of your stupor.

“Lex,” Anya says, shoving your arm.

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes glued to the stage.

“Lexa,” Anya says again with a push.

“What?” you snap, refusing to miss a moment of the action on stage.

“Lex-aaaa,” Anya says, finally drawing your reluctant attention to her. When your eyes fall on your sister, she’s holding a crisp ten dollar bill between her fingers, devious smirk on her face and eyes glistening with mirth. You gasp and shoot a glance to the stripper to gauge how far away she is from you, your distance to the stage, and the probability that she saw your sister pull out the cash.

“Anya, no.”

“Anya, _yes._ We're at a strip club, just do it.” Your stomach bottoms out completely when you look back at Phoenix, who has _definitely_ spotted your standing sister waving the ten dollar bill in the air.

You always wished you were an only child. This time is no different.

Anya pulls you out of your seat and turns you to her. You think she’s about to give you a pep talk, so you open your mouth to tell her off in response, but your sister takes the opportunity to shove the ten dollar bill into your mouth and dramatically shove you onto the stage.

You hear Anya wolf-whistle, but your ego, and your ass, is too bruised to flip her off. You sigh out in resignation when you turn to your right and see the pleasant view of the stripper walking towards you.

You would love the sight if it weren’t for the surrounding tables, filled with excited gentlemen clapping along with your sister.

There is a sudden surge of heat through your body when Phoenix finally makes her way over to you, dragging her fingers along your shoulder as she walks around. You’re not sure if you’re embarrassed or excited, but a part of you knows that it’s probably a bit of both.

Phoenix steps across you, her sex directly in front of your face, and for a moment your eyes bulge. She takes your chin and tilts your face up to look at her. You wonder if she can see how red your cheeks are in this light. "On your back,” she husks out, and the rasp of her voice sends a thrill right through you. You nod dumbly and lie on your back in the middle of the stage, and she shifts with you to straddle you, one high-heeled boot on either side of your body. She exudes dominance, and all you can see from this position is exactly where you want to bury your face.  

Phoenix starts by running her hands over her own chest, cupping her full breasts before sliding them down her stomach. She leans forward with an arch to her back that puts her ass on display for the crowd and her breasts nearly falling out of the top. She rolls her hips in rhythm to the music as she slowly descends down into a squat; kneels down over you and grinds a slow, torturous rhythm against your lap, the full weight of her body pressing into you at random times and pulling dirty whimpers from your throat.

It’s _incredible._

Phoenix traces a finger down your sternum before reaching behind herself and untying the string of her bikini. The material falls away and your eyes find the pert, pink nipples in front of you.

“Hey,” Phoenix purrs, leaning forward to get close to your ear. You honestly wonder why she is trying to hold a conversation right now when she _just_ took off her bra, but the manners you were brought up to have have decided to take over, and you bite your bottom lip to refrain from pouting while you look up at her eyes and away from her breasts. The lights flicker in the club and her eyes shift from an intense violet to a cool blue.

“Do you like ass or tits?” Phoenix asks, but you’re focusing so hard on not looking at her chest that you can’t even respond. Phoenix laughs when you just nod in response. She leans down, licking her lips, and you honest to God think you’re about to pass out when she takes the bill from your mouth with her lips.

_Jesus. H. Christ._

“Well?” she asks again after she's tucked the bill away into the string of her bikini bottom, rolling her body against you and letting out a moan against your ear.

You squeak. How are you supposed to answer with her doing _that?_ “Uhh, both?”

She lets out a breath of a laugh, white teeth shining as she smiles, and you feel yourself smiling back but not having any idea why. She slides her hands down your body until she finds your hands. They’re currently in tight fists at your sides, and with another giggling smile, she takes them and moves your arms above your head. “Don’t touch,” she whispers, and all you can do is nod.

Phoenix cups her breasts again and pushes them into your face.

Literally.

She smothers you, and you can't help but laugh at the impromptu motorboat you give.

Too quickly; however, the blonde turns around and moves backwards so that her crotch hovers right over your face. Not that you’re complaining.

_Mother of Mary._

Phoenix grinds slowly over your face, careful not to actually touch, and you’re almost sure that you’re going to have blood on your hands from how tightly you are clenching your fists. All you want to do is touch and taste and feel and breathe, but you also know that once you start you won’t ever be able to stop worshipping her body, audience be damned.

After a few moments of delicious torture, Phoenix moves from over your dazed body and helps you sit up. She stands slowly, making sure you’re not about to topple over and runs her hand along her shoulder. She leans down and pecks you on the cheek. “Happy Birthday,” she purrs before standing again to the cheers of the audience.

A burst of heat explodes across your cheeks from the press of lips, and you stumble off the stage to your laughing sister. Anya slaps you on the back and hands you your beer.

Phoenix saunters away to continue her performance for the rest of the crowd, and you manage to finish your beer and beckon the waitress for another. The server doesn't even bother to hide the laugh in her tone as you order without looking away from the stage.

Phoenix eventually makes her way back over towards you, having entertained the other half of the room. She turns away and slides down to her knees, placing her cheek against the cool wood of the stage, arching her back so her ass is in the air. She looks over her shoulder, eyes immediately searching out yours. Blue meets green as she rotates her hips and twerks into the air.

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline, and Phoenix smiles a full, brilliant smile at the reaction. You feel hot _everywhere_ from the look in her eyes, and she feels empowered by yours. And you’re glad for it.

“Jesus, she really likes you,” Anya jokes.

“Fuck,” is the only sound that escapes your lips, chugging the entirety of your fresh beer in one go.


	2. Chapter 2 - Clarke

You're hardly drawn to your customers, barely batting an eye at them no matter how high profile they may be. They're all  _ just _ customers, and you're  _ just  _ a stripper. Although it may be a tad more sexual, it's still a simple business transaction. Your job is to make them feel wanted and you excel in that. You can twist your locks and bat your eyelashes and play demure when need be; you can straighten your spine, make yourself appear at least three inches taller and crack a whip, both figuratively and literally. You can read people and give them exactly what they want without ever becoming invested; it's why you're so good at what you do. So, it startles you when you find yourself looking  _ her  _ way right after you exit the stage.

Because it feels like the fluttering of want, and you haven't  _ wanted  _ anything in a long time.

When her gaze meets yours with a similar desire, it unhinges you. 

Your fingers tingle with desire to capture that sharp jawline on paper, and you laugh because your fingers have  _ always _ found a way to get you into trouble. Figuratively and literally.

Your heart falters a little when the blonde she is with takes the beer from her hands with a familiarity that can only be akin to a lover or family. You hope it's a lover. But when the magnetic eyes find their way back to you, drawn to your presence, a stone settles in your stomach. If it is a lover, you hope they're at least polyamorous. 

You let your mind drift to thoughts of you and them, lost in the cupidity and the lust and the sensuous fantasy. 

"Clarke?" 

Bellamy is leaning against the DJ booth, arms folded over his chest; watching you curiously. "Are you okay?" The lines of concern on his forehead are adorable; however, unnecessary. 

"Yes, mom." You roll your eyes and pat his muscled shoulder before dipping past him into the locker rooms. He knows you too well, though; knows your heart like a big, overprotective brother, and knows when you're distracted.

"Let me know if you need a break," he calls as you slip inside. It's his subtle way of demanding you take one. He adopted the habit shortly after your first burnout when you moved to the city, desperate to distract yourself from  _ thinking _ and thereby working constantly.

"Hola, Clarkey," Raven chirps as you enter the changerooms. She's sat on the sink to get as close as humanly possible to the mirror; a tube of lipstick in her hands, and applying the red to her lips. 

"I'm pretty sure you're breaking at least seven health code violations, Rey."

"I'm pretty sure it's at least eight, and don't change the subject."

Perplexed, you stare at her back. "What subject? I literally just walked in."

"Right. Sorry, I already had this conversation with you, but you weren't here."

"Want to skip to the outcome and save us both some time?" You put the combination into your lock and jangle the locker obnoxiously. Raven just watches you, tapping the edge of the tube of red against her chin in thought. 

"Basically, you gave a lappy for a tenner when your goodies are head-hunted for at  _ least  _ a dub."

You blink at your best friend. "You need to stop watching those gang documentaries with Monty, Rey. In English?"

"You were grinding all over that brunette out there for ten bucks. I distinctly saw at least one move you always use in your lap dances. My question is," she waves her hand with flare, finishing with a point directed towards you, "why?"

You force a laugh and brush off the lingering thought waking up to eyes the colour of a forest of green. 

You are not used to  _ wanting _ . 

You're more than aware of the your best friend is still scrutinizing you, so you do the next best thing when you're caught - you focus on any other task but answering. 

If you pretend you didn't hear her, you don't have to answer, right? It's not like you're the only two people in the room (you are).

You fumble through your bag, finding your phone. No notifications throws your aversive tactic to the wind, so you grab your favourite dark blue bustier and matching panties.

When you turn around, Raven is sitting right in front of you on the wooden bench.

You roll your eyes while untying the bikini string of your bra. She has no sense of personal space. "She was hot as fuck, and the crowd was loving it. It's going to help me get some customers tonight, that's all." You shimmy out of your panties.

Raven's eyes wander over your body as they always do when you're naked. It's caused quite a few people to question your relationship, but you and Raven have tried it before - when you were both drunk and horny and alone - but you were always better friends than lovers. "Your cooch looks fantastic."

"Thank you, it's this new girl I go to,"

"Oh my God, is she the one down on main?"

"No, she's on fourth. She's so gentle." You take Raven's hand and guide her to feel the softness of your skin. "She uses some all natural cream or something. I am totally buying a tub and bathing in it next time."

"Oh, shit, that is soft! Does she get all up in that?" Raven moves her fingers lower before you swat her hand away. 

"Yup. All. In. It's amazing."

"Well," Raven nods, still looking at your crotch, "she's doing wonders. It looks like a fucking baby vagina."

"That is literally the opposite of what I want my vagina to look like."

"You know what I mean. It looks like the Gods have blessed your vagina. It looks like I should be bowing to your feet, face fully submerged in Clarke vagina."

You love the way your friend expresses excitement. "I'll give you her card. She does walk-ins."

"Amazing - wait, hey! God, Clarke, you do that all the fucking time! Jesus - the topic was the brunette!"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to explain that to me."

"You going in? Sorry - are you going to see if you can get a dance from her? You should probably take your break before you head over there. You had a week and the night is young."

"What is it with you and Bellamy?"

"We love and cherish you?"

"Fuck off." Raven taps her heel impatiently against the floor and makes a show of crossing her arms. "I'm  _ fine _ ," you groan, but she doesn't buy it. You sigh. "I pinky swear I will take one after the brunette."

"Fine," she says, uncrossing her arms. "But, I call dibs on the blonde."

"Deal," you say as you shimmy into your bottoms. Working with Raven has always been lucrative. 

"I'll come join you after you make contact." 

You nod, distracted by adjusting your bustier. Raven starts walking to the door, the click of her heels against the floor slowing to a stop before opening the door. Your eyes dart up to the silence. "And then you're taking a break!" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

***

You pull your shoulders back as you walk through the tables, especially when you pass Bellamy, lines of scrutiny etched into his forehead.

He is such a worrywart.

Your week was hectic, yes, with customers who had to practically break a finger to get them to back off. Bellamy only had to get involved once, but it was enough to have you out of commission for a few hours as you calmed your anxiety. 

But, stripping has always been the best distraction. Getting lost in the movements and the music is one of your favourite activities, and you just want to get lost in the green eyes of the brunette - 

\-  want to get lost in your job.

You almost lose your footing when you realize the wandering thought.

You see the brunette and the blonde chatting and you can't help but feel a little thrill as you approach; but, it's when you hear the brunette's defensive voice, that you slow your steps.

"I'm not uncomfortable,"

"Then what is it, Squirt."

"It's not - it's just - don't call me that. Especially here." The brunette runs her hand down her face. "It's just me being dumb."

"I bet you're not being dumb at all."

She sighs and rubs her face forcefully, picks up her beer bottle and picks at the label. "My birthday just… it sucks. All I think about is  _ them _ . I just wish I didn't, and that makes me feel guilty. I just want to be  _ happy.  _ I just want to enjoy my birthday."

"Yeah." The blonde runs her hand familiarly down the brunette's back. "Are you happy you came out?"

"Yes." The brunette responds, nodding her head and straightening up just slightly. "Definitely."

"So am I," you respond before thinking. A rush of heat floods your cheeks when they both look your way, but you smile through it and approach the table. You feel sympathetic to the brunette, knowing how it feels to carry enough guilt to weigh you down.

Both girls open up their positions to face you, and you make a point to smile at the blonde first. She doesn't smile back, just studies you. She's got cheekbones to die for and, a stoic, contemplative gaze that would be so incredibly sexy if it wasn't so intimidating.

"Hi," you greet, letting your eyes fall to the brunette and still somehow being taken aback by the sexy yet sincere gaze. 

"Hi," she says in a rush of breath, lips quirking slightly into a smirk. "Did you want to join us?"

The ease in which she speaks now confounds you as you try to connect her to the stuttering girl on stage earlier.

"Sure." You sit directly on her lap. She didn't specify  _ where _ you had to sit. You interlock your fingers around her neck, winking with a smile. She chuckles, her small smirk turning into a full grin on her plump lips, and  _ fuck,  _ she is beautiful. 

She clears her throat to draw your attention to her hands, awkwardly raised in the air above your legs.

"What are…" you realize with a startling clarity that she's  _ asking permission _ . There's a sweet thump in your chest accompanying the rushing heat to your cheeks.

You draw your line in the sand and remind yourself that she is  _ just  _ a customer, and you are  _ just  _ a stripper. This is  _ just  _ a business transaction.

"You can touch me," you rasp out against the shell of her ear. You enjoy the way the skin prickles where your breath warms.

She wipes her hands in her shirt and rests them against your legs with a gentle pressure. Her smile is warm and you can tell that she feels proud of herself.

She's a dork. And it's adorable.

You let your fingers trace the nape of her neck in appreciation for asking. "Let me guess what brought you in tonight." She gives you a puzzled look. You remove one hand from behind her neck and tap the tiara on her head. Her hair falls haphazardly as the crown slips over her eyes. "How old?"

"Oh, um, twenty-nine," she says, puffing at the hair that has fallen in her face. You tuck the strand behind her ear, and the way her eyes watch your fingers is nothing if not intimate.

"That's hot."

"Did you just reference Paris Hilton? Are you even old enough to know who that is?" She laughs both at your statement and her reference.

"Excuse me, with the ageism. All you need to know is that I'm above eighteen."

"High standards," she chirps. 

"For you or for me? Because if you're thinking I'm a minor, then you're the weirdo here."

"Touche." She concedes with a nod and a sexy smirk, and a part of you panics at the aftermath of sassing a customer after what transpired this past week. Green eyes fill with mirth as she traces a nonsensical pattern on your legs. Your anxiety evaporates with each nonexistent line she draws.

Raven appears and plops down in the open chair meant for you, draping her arm behind the back of the blonde with the cheekbones to die for. "You two together?" She asks, gesturing back and forth between Green Eyes and Cheekbones. 

"Oh my God -"

"Ew!"

Both girls pull faces at the thought. The brunette shakes her head violently, laughing loud enough for people to turn. "She's my sister," she admits.

"Oh my God, this is familial?" Raven wonders aloud. "The sexiest family tree ever."

Cheekbones shrugs. Her eyes wander over Raven's body, and you're happy to know Raven will not have much work to do.

You; however, aren't so sure. One second the brunette is bashful, the next, she is engaging in witty banter. You hate to admit that you love how much it keeps you on your toes.

"So, honestly, how old are you?" The brunette asks, moving her hands delicately along your sides to get your attention.

"Twenty-seven." 

"Actually?"

"Are you going to ID me, officer? You wanna cuff me? I'm down for a little roleplay."

She rolls her eyes. "You, um, you don't look twenty-seven." The blush that spreads across her cheeks is pretty.

"I'll take that as a compliment." You wink.

"It was meant to be." After less than a second of silence, she breathes heavily. "I'm sorry, I'm not very good at this." She groans, and you can  _ feel  _ the defeat radiating from her. You know where her mind is headed from your earlier eavesdropping, and you decide that that isn't going to happen tonight.

"Hey," you say, tucking another loose strand of hair behind her ear after it falls loose. "You're okay. Let's have a good time tonight, okay? You and me."

She nods, anxiety radiating from her slumping shoulders. She clenches and unclenches her jaw as she tries to compose herself, and you can't stop yourself from blurting out the next thought. "You have a fantastic jawline." It works, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. Her cheeks darken with a blush and a bashful smile.  "No, really, like, I'm already fantasizing about it between my legs." You know it's mean, but you really love the way she turns red when you sexualize things.

"I really liked the way you cleaned the pole." Her eyes widen in absolute horror, and you can't stop the laugh that escapes you. She blushes even darker. 

"So, that's what does it for you?" You tease. 

She groans and laughs at herself. "I'd pay you just to come over and clean, to be honest. My apartment could use a little TLC."

"Oh?" You raise a brow. "Just be naked in my heels while dusting your apartment. Is that a code for what could actually use some TLC?"

"Oh my God, I meant my actual apartment."

"I'm down for a French Maid role play."

_ "You're _ the one suggesting you be naked, not me." She laughs and it sounds so pretty.

"I'm a  _ stripper _ . It's literally my  _ job  _ to suggest being naked."

"You're so much more than  _ just  _ a stripper," she snaps, still laughing, but a completely serious look in her eye. 

"I'm -" you fumble.

She runs her hands along your legs and looks away. "You're not  _ just  _ a stripper. No one is  _ just  _ anything. You are so many things, not just this  _ one thing _ in this  _ one space _ . You're not  _ just  _ anything. You are you."

You haven't heard someone so vehemently argue against your self-deprecation, and you have  _ no _ idea how to respond. The words sink into your bones and wrap around your heart in a tender embrace. You cough to clear your throat from the growing knot.

Harper appears almost by magic, asking the two girls if they'd like a refill. The brunette asks for a beer and gestures to you instantly. "Whatever she wants. Even if it's water or something. Like, not just offering alcohol, here." Your mouth falls an inch in shock. When the brunette turns back to you, she suddenly gets shy. "I mean, uh, if you want." Her cheeks flush. "You probably get thirsty talking to people all night. And… stuff."

"And stuff." You laugh at her awkwardness, and ask Harper for a water. 

So many customers have tried to get you so drunk you can't stand, all in the hopes that you do more than just strip for them. No one has ever offered to get you anything else before. Until now.

"I'm sorry if I came off too strong before," she apologizes. "But, I was serious. You're more than just your job."

Your abandoned sketches flashes through your mind. Your fingers itch again to create something beautiful.

"I like to practice martial arts. It's a totally useless skill to some, but it's something I'm good at that isn't work." You let your mind focus on her words and away from the siren call if your artwork.

"And what do you do?"

She shrugs, uncomfortable. You berate yourself for the misstep. She's mentioned so many times tonight that you're more than just your job; that should have been the biggest indication that she wasn't comfortable talking about work. 

You blame the breathtaking thought of a naked back in your sheets, piercing green eyes gazing at your charcoal stained fingers.

"Why do you like it?" You ask.

"It teaches you control. When to give. When to take. Using your head to not make any rash decisions."

"I like to draw," you admit in a low voice.

And,  _ what the fuck was that? _ That was as rash as decisions come. That personal fact isn't something you share with customers; it's hardly something you share with  _ anyone _ . 

"Yeah?" She asks, perking up. You shrug dismissively. "I'd love to see it sometime. Fully clothed, of course," she teases, and genuine curiosity in her voice allows the tension to evaporate from your shoulders.

"My body  _ is _ my work of art."

"Yes," she admits. Her eyes scan the lines of your body in an almost predatory manner. It makes your pulse race. 

You let your fingers push aside her collar to expose her collarbones, and enjoy her slender neck, tracing the crook where her pulse beats. "I bet you know how to control your body quite well."

"Oh my God, lame," she retorts, but you feel the way her pulse picks up.

"It does sound sexy, controlling and being controlled, does it not?" You press.

"Yeah," she husks, her eyes dropping to your lips quickly. The warmth in your belly starts to grow hotter.

"You wanna show me?" Your voice has dropped to a low purr. Her eyes darken, and she wets her lips in anticipation.

You allow your slow, lazy smirk to appear before falling into a fit of giggles, and she laughs and pinches your side playfully. "You're good."

You enjoy the sound of her laughter. It sounds free, and you're sure she doesn't feel that way often. "Exactly. I'm good at my job  _ and _ I enjoy it. So, Prince Charming, what's your name?"

A slow blush creeps up her neck. "I'm not saying you don't. I'm glad you do. And I'm not trying to be charming. I'm Lexa."

"Lexa," you say, letting the name roll around on your tongue. It tastes as sexy as the girl in front of you. Lexa shifts underneath you and her grip tightens ever so slightly when your tongue curls around the letters. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," she croaks. "Your name is, uh, original." The way she so seamlessly shifts from charming to a fumbling idiot is adorable. You're not sure if you want to hug her or dominate her.

Maybe both.

"Is that sarcasm?"

"I mean…"

"I'll have you know, it took me hours to figure it out."

"That's… concerning."  She suppresses a laugh and you swat at her arm. 

"Are you sassing a stripper?"

"Do you  _ feel  _ sassed?"

"Do  _ you _ feel lucky? Cause you're pushing it." You snap back, a challenging glint in your eye. 

You imagine how much  _ fun  _ it would be to fuck her. And be fucked by her. She knows how to meet your energy.

She shrugs, taking a sip of her beer. Your eyes wander the length of her neck to the length of the bottle to the length of her fingers. 

_ Jesus _ ,  _ those fingers _ . 

The condensation on the bottle slides down, and you follow the droplet as it clings to the neck before dropping onto your suddenly overheated skin. "I could feel luckier, I suppose," she admits. "It is my birthday, after all."

"That it is. Lucky for you, I am feeling extra giving. How about a dance?"

From the corner of your eye, you can see that her sister is well on her way to falling in love with Raven, already motorboating your best friend. 

You let out a laugh at the scene when Lexa's eyes nearly pop out of her skull. "So gross," she yells.

Anya looks up at the noise, throws a wad of cash at the table and proceeds to put her face right back into Raven's chest.

Raven is  _ loving it _ . Truly. You think there is more than just cash on Raven's mind right now.

You take the money from the table and tuck it into Lexa's shirt pocket with a wink. "You can hold onto that 'til I earn it."

Because it's her birthday, you decide she should get the VIP room. It's closest to the DJ booth, so the customers are secluded, but the girls are safe with the proximity to Bellamy.

He nods at you as you approach. "Did you take your break yet?" He obviously does not notice the brunette behind you. Either that, or he mistook her for another dancer, which is ridiculous, seeing as she is  _ fully clothed _ . But, Bellamy can be a little dense sometimes.

"Later," you dismiss, and he grumbles something you can't hear. You pull the brunette into the room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.

The VIP room has dark wood flooring and a white L-shaped leather couch along one of the walls that are adorned with mirrors. Customers love this room simply because they can see  _ every  _ angle of the entertainment.

You push Lexa down into the corner of the couch, gaze searching her face, the desire palpable. She just exudes a sexiness you cannot deny, and the banter you've developed so far is making your entire body tingle in anticipation.

You take a handkerchief out of your small purse you carry all night and place it across her lap. "It's to keep it clean. I know how much that does it for you," you tease, and straddle her waist. 

Her cheeks darken tremendously at that, and she starts to ramble in her nervousness. "So how did you - what did you - why are you -”

“A stripper?” 

She nods, swallowing the heavy taste of sexual tension in the air.

“I like it.” you shrug. You've always enjoyed it. You enjoy your body. You enjoy people looking at your body. You enjoy being sexy. You  _ definitely _ enjoy the money.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. What were you expecting? Some poor college student trying to pay her debts? Working mom? Drug addict? I like it and I'm good at it.”

“No!” Lexa exclaims. “I just don't know much about it. Like, at all. I don't know how you become one. Are there tryouts? Do you just do an amateur night or something? Are there recruiters? Competitions?”

You stare at her blankly. She stares back just as blankly.

"You're serious." Of course, she is serious. "My friend owns the place. I stripped back home and I needed a job when I moved down here. It's easy money and I really do enjoy it."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Am I supposed to argue? You like it and are good at it are valid answers."

"No, I - huh." You gape at her. "That easy, huh?" 

Her lopsided grin is stunning. "That easy. This is a safe space; I'm not one to judge."

"Safe space," you nod in return.

Her hands hover over your waist again and you roll your eyes, pulling them down to your sides. "Why do you keep doing that?" You question.

"Respecting your boundaries?" 

You huff out a laugh as your heart beats heavily against your rib cage. 

“So… Lexa," you say, letting the name roll around on your tongue. “Is that short for anything?”

“If I tell you, I'd have to kill you,” she gives you a playful glare.

“Oh come on." 

“Fine. It's Alexandria. But, I haven't gone by that since I was five.”

“Yeah, no it doesn't suit you.” You let your eyes wander up and down Lexa's lithe body, the way the blue shirt fits her frame just the right way to show off her slender shoulders and long neck. “I like Lexa. Even if you're kind of weird.”

“Which part is weird? Me looking at your face instead of your tits?”

“Well, yeah.” 

She looks adorable when she furrows her brow, like she cannot for the life of her comprehend why someone would not be looking at your face.

It's cute.

“We're talking?” her head tilts like a puppy and you have this overwhelming urge to just  _ hold _ her.

"We don't have to talk at all, though," you suggest, running your fingers down the open collar of her shirt.

Your eyes hold hers, studying her in a vain attempt to figure out what makes her so…  _ nice _ . But, it doesn't feel like a strong enough word, and  _ considerate  _ just seems too boring.

There's no one else in here for her to pretend to be charming, but she still asked for permission to touch you. She just  _ is  _ charming.

And it's making you  _ hot.  _ Another wave of heat flushes through you when she smiles and you realize you're  _ actually  _ attracted to her.

You lean into her space, breath hot in her ear when you whisper, "Touch me." You  _ want  _ this.

You're close enough to hear the strangled gasp from her throat. You begin undressing, cupping your breasts through your bustier before pulling the straps down. Her eyes dilate, black overtaking the pretty green, and you would miss the colour if you weren't so fucking turned on.

"Wait," she croaks, hands suddenly on your forearms.

You immediately stop, one arm awkwardly still inside your bra strap. "You don't have to do this," she says, brows furrowed and eyes searching yours.

"I want to," you respond. You're so utterly confused by this girl.

"But, I don't want you to think you  _ have _ to." 

You want to slap the girl for her chivalry. 

"I heard your boss. The DJ dude. You need a break."

Fucking, Bellamy.

"Are you saying I look haggard?"

"I'm  _ saying _ , I want you to take your break."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"You're paying me for a dance."

"I'm  _ paying you _ for your  _ time _ , and I want you to take your break. Your needs are important, too."

"Jesus, Lexa," you say, collapsing against her chest. She runs her fingers along your spine and you hate the way your skin prickles underneath her ministrations. "You're so weird," you mumble into her neck. 

You  _ hate  _ that you  _ like  _ weird.

"I know," she husks out. 

"Are you not attracted to me?" You ramble out, immediately feeling insecure and pulling away from the girl. There's nothing more unattractive than an insecure stripper, but this girl is confusing you. You feel pathetic that a little human decency is all it takes to turn you on, but you can't tell if she thinks you're sexy or pathetic and it makes you feel unsettled.

"Are you kidding?" The pitch of her voice raises a full octave, and her hands tighten infantismally around your arms to not let you squirm away. "You're hilarious, and smart, and you're sassy, and you already know you're fucking  _ gorgeous _ . You're honestly too good for me." Lexa rolls her eyes and groans unhappily at her insecure slip. She tickles your sides when you waggle your eyebrows at her compliments. 

Laughter splits the room and you loop your hands behind her neck. "So, then why don't you want to see me naked?" 

Her mouth twists to the side as she takes a deep breath. Her eyes drop to the couch and she let's go of your arms. You let them fall to her chest. "Because I'd prefer you do it because you want to, not because you're working."

"Lexa," you sigh, letting your forehead fall onto her shoulder. "You know that I -"

"I know." She shrugs. "Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic."

"Maybe so. It's nice, though." You let the bass of the music mask the wild beating of your heart. You sit quietly, letting your body melt into hers for what feels like hours, but is probably a few seconds. She lets her hands wander around the skin of your back.

“Where are you from?” Her voice cracks as she fights down her desire, but her eyes belay her want when they linger on your lips.

You sigh. She's is hilariously annoying. "Arkadia. I moved to Polis for a guy, stupidly." 

Lexa doesn't interrupt, or say one of the classic lines that accompany a story of heartbreak. She just stares at you like you're some kind of masterpiece, studying you, absorbing your every word. "I'm happier now. Stripping is universal. I like to go to Shadow Valley every now and then and I can work while I'm there and not worry about it. I don't have to be tied down if I don't want to be.”

“Do you miss home? Arkadia is more busy than Polis."

“Sometimes. I like hiking, though, so it helps me not miss it. I like getting lost in the green.” you feel yourself settle further against her lap. 

“I  _ love _ hiking. I like being among the trees. Goes with the last name.”

"Which is?"

Lexa let's her eyes fall to the side with a bashful smile. "Woods." 

You feel your responding laugh all the way into your toes. "How often do you use that line?"

"It's not a line!" 

"Oh, it's just so convenient that your last name connects to one of the activities that I enjoy doing?" 

Lexa rolls her eyes but it's clear she doesn't take offense. "I don't think if you choose the name 'Phoenix' that you get to judge me."

"I'm  _ literally  _ a stripper. We're  _ supposed _ to have outrageous names. They're supposed to mistify you and make you think 'sex'." You start to rant about the complexities of name choice in this industry.

"Do you feel better now?" Lexa asks when you finish, a teasing lilt to her question.

You rest your head on her shoulder and cuddle into her space. You inhale the scent of… something you can't quite place. It has the coolness of cologne and the softness of perfume, and whatever it is is making your knees weak. 

"Is this okay?” you all but whisper.

Lexa hums, shifting her hands around you and lets her fingers trail up and down your spine. “Of course.”

“Then, yes, I do. You smell good.”

“Thank you. I made it myself.”

“Why am I not surprised make your own perfume?” you look up from your position, seeing her throat bob with a laugh.

“I like how it smells."

“You really are weird, Lexa.” you settle back down and inhale her scent again. 

“I know."

“Is that how you get all the ladies? This unwavering chivalry?" you ask.

"Works like a charm. Hence why I'm currently single,” Lexa says flatly.

“So am I.” 

“That's, umm, that's surprising. You're a - you're a great conversationalist."

"Oh my God," You laugh, turning your cheek into the crook of her neck and feeling her arms tighten against you. You sigh and snuggle further into the arms of the brunette, feeling something you haven't felt in a long time - safe.

“What?” Lexa whispers, and you blame the beat of the bass in the club. It's too loud. You can't think of any other reason why your eyes fall to Lexa's lips that would be  _ appropriate _ . 

“You're single."

"Yeah," Lexa nods.

"But, you're so good at being stupidly charming."

She shrugs. "Can't help it."

You lean into her space then, pressing yourself against her. "I can't help this,"  you whisper back, and  _ God _ , you're starting to lose sight of the line you drew in the sand.  The innuendo is not lost on her, and the way her eyes darken makes you feel bold. You press your forehead against her cheek and ask, "tell me what else you can't help."

“Wanting things I can't have," the brunette breathes. She shifts so her face is millimeters from your own, eyes dropping to your lips while she wets hers.

“Me, too,” The temperature in the room is steadily rising as Lexa's eyes dart down to your lips again.

God, you just want her to kiss you.

So, you lean in closer. 

Fuck the line.

Fuck the sand.

Her eyes close; her nose brushes against yours; her throat bobs as she swallows; her breaths shallow as she pants against your face.

You want it so badly that your mouth salivates.

And, with all good things in your life, the moment comes to a shattering halt with a loud bang on the door. 

It startles you to the point that you nearly fall off Lexa's lap entirely, her strong arms being the only thing keeping you upright.

“Phoenix, we got table dances! Get your ass out here!” Raven's voice is impatient as she bangs on the door again. "You were supposed to have taken a break twenty minutes ago!"

You're both staring at one another as reality comes crashing back down.

Lexa looks at you with understanding, and a sad, but accepting smile on her lips.

If only the circumstances were  _ different _ .

“Our times up,” you feel the heavy weight of regret with each syllable.

“Okay. Let's get you paid.” Lexa's smiling softly, soothingly rubbing your legs like she knows that you need comforting. Like she knows that this is all it can ever be. Like she knows that this will be one of those "if only" moments that haunt you both. 

“No, don't worry about it.” you try to brush her off, waving your hand in the air at her offer. If anything, you want just another second before remembering that this is just a business transaction.

“Hey,” Lexa says softly. She takes your hand and entwines your fingers. You nervously adjust Lexa's collar while the girl speaks. “You spent your time with me when you could have spent it anywhere. With anyone.”

“Right, yeah." It just doesn't feel right, now. 

You trace your finger down her wrist, into her palm before locking your hands together. “Thank you." 

"I -" she plays with your fingers nervously. She takes a fortifying breath before looking back up at you.

"Can I?" Her eyes are focused on your lips. Your heart stutters in anticipation. You nod and close your eyes.

And, of course, it's her breath you feel against your cheek as she leans in and places the softest if kisses against your jaw.

"Thank  _ you _ ," she whispers. "This was the best part of my birthday."

And, God, you wish she wasn't a customer.

"Next time I want you in your birthday suit," you command before pulling away.

***

“Five songs, eh Clarke? You don't even look remotely disheveled. What, did she come before you even touched her?” Raven quips.

“We just talked.” You're disgruntled and you can't help it.

“Oh my God, she's one of  _ those _ ,” Raven groans. “Those weird perverts that think they're going to charm you and get you to change your dirty stripper ways.”

“No, she's… she's cool. How was Cheekbones?"

"Fantastic. She's got a sexy mouth."

"You're not supposed to fuck the customers."

"I didn't." Raven rolls her eyes. "Maybe next time."

You don't laugh at her joke, adjusting and readjusting your bustier, primping yourself in the mirror and trying to figure out what the hell is going on in your head.

You're definitely distracted. Green eyes; a playful smirk; soft hands, are all you can think about.

“Clarke." Raven snaps her fingers in front of your face.

"What?" You don't even bother to hide your exasperation. 

"Your break."

"What about it?"

"When did you take it?"

"I took it with Lexa."

"Who the fuck is…" you suppose the look on your face speaks volumes, because Raven narrows her eyes at you and folds her arms.

“What?” you snap.

“I know that look.”

“There's no look, Raven. We talked. She paid me. It was a nice break. That's the end of it.”

“Is it, though?"

You roll your eyes and turn back to the mirror, pointedly ignoring your friend and  _ still  _ adjusting your bustier.

Raven looks at you in the mirror. "And if you met her somewhere else? If she wasn't a customer?"

You sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You adjust your bustier again before looking back at your friend through the glass  "If I met her somewhere else, I'd be preparing for a date."

"Oh, Clarkey -"

"- come on, we gotta get on stage. Bell's giving us the  _ look _ ." You dismiss with a shake of your head. You check your reflection in the mirror, adjusting the bustier one last time.

You're  _ just _ a stripper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am posting this in celebration of the Raptors winning their first ever NBA championship! Woot! Canada's team!
> 
> Anyway, yes, my gay ass really did act like this. Ramble fucking city. Yes, I paid a stripper for her TIME (I do not regret that whatsoever), and yes to the almost kiss.
> 
> As per usual, I write everything on my phone, so let me know if there are any issues. Autocorrect hates me.
> 
> Also! HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, Y'ALL!
> 
> Hit me up on Instagram/Tumblr if you have any questions or wanna chat: @jordswriteswords


	3. Chapter 3 - Lexa

_ She leans into your space, pressing her lips against your neck and grinding her sex into your sweat slicked skin of your abs. Your dark blue shirt is wide open, bra off and tossed to the side of the white couch. Your pants are in a heap on the floor, accompanied by her dark blue bustier you ripped off earlier. _

_ "Fuck, Lexa, you're so hot," she whispers in your ear. Her lips trail hot, wet kisses along your neck. _

_ Your eyes fall to the space between you and you watch with rapt attention as she slides her cunt against your skin. You squeeze the supple flesh of her ass in encouragement. Your eyes glance to the mirrors behind her and you enjoy the sight of scratch marks down her pale back. _

_ The slickness between her thighs leaves a sheen against your abdominals, her teeth leave a mark on your neck as she bites down in her pleasure. You guide her hips to grind down harder, faster. She leans away from you to let out a dirty moan, nails digging into your shoulders. _

_ Exposing her beautiful breasts, you suck a pert nipple in your mouth, lapping at the flesh as her hips start to stutter. _

_ "Oh, fuck, baby, I'm gonna come -" _

_ "Come for me," you whisper, squeezing her ass once. Her hips falter. You slide your hand to the front, slipping between your bodies. Your fingers are coated in her juices and sweat as you find the nub of her clit, engorged and ready for your touch. _

_ You press against the bundle of nerves with a firm pressure. "Come for -" _

\- Anya jolts you from your sleep with a splash of water on your face. "Wake up, Squirt."

The ill-timed nickname makes you clench your thighs together as you splutter to remove the liquid from your airways.

You cough, wiping your face of the excess moisture and fruitlessly trying to hold on to the dream.

"The fuck?" you grumble. Your head pounds, and your mouth tastes disgusting and you would much rather be asleep and continuing where you left off.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, wake up."

"What?" You snap.

"I'm hungry."

"Are you fucking serious?!"

"No. We need to leave soon." The end of the mattress dips. You know your sister won't leave until you agree.

You groan again, rolling over and pulling the comforter over your head. "Make up an excuse."

"I've done that the last four times. You have to come this time."

You sigh, defeated. You roll back onto your back and throw the covers off. Your eyes are still closed, your fists clenched and body stiff.  

"So," Anya clears her throat, and you open one eye to look at her. "Good dream?"

"Oh my God, fuck off!" You throw the closest thing you can reach - a pillow - at your sister's head. She laughs and bolts out the door, leaving you to flop back onto the sheets as she calls, "I'll give you a half hour to figure  _ that _ out."

You groan again as your cheeks flush.

You stare at your ceiling, fists clenched at your sides for a full ten seconds. You're so wound up that the pounding in your head isn't enough to dull the throb between your legs.

It's one thing to have to ward off a hangover while dealing with your father, and something else completely to ward off lingering thoughts of the blonde while in his presence.

_ Fuck it. _

You slide your hand into the waistband of your boxers, feeling your own slick heat pooling between your thighs.

Jesus, you haven't been this worked up in forever. It takes a few well placed strokes and a memory of soft breasts in your face to have you coming harder than the last time you got laid. 

You throw yourself into the shower a minute later, hoping to wash away the guilty feeling of coming to the image of a girl whose name you don't even know.

***

Your mood is considerably worse by the time you pull up to the gates of your father's property.

The gravel crunches underneath the tires of your motorcycle, each pebble puncturing sending your patience flying as your wheels turn over them.

You hate being here.

You slow your bike as you approach the old oak tree. The long forgotten tire swing swaying in the breeze.

You hear your mother’s laughter; see a younger version of your sisters; see a younger version of yourself - happier, whole - holding onto your mother while your sisters try to spin you both around until you vomit.

You hate being here.

Your tires squeal as you pick up speed, rushing to erase the memory. You park your bike next to Anya’s SUV, happy to note that she is already here and you don’t have to handle what will inevitably be a shitshow on your own.

"You're late!" Octavia chirps when you enter. Her long brown hair falls into her face as she fights for balance in her socks against the hardwood floors. She rights herself with a hand on your shoulder, a proud smile on her lips.

"I'm here aren't I?" Your younger sister wraps you in a tight hug, nearly crushing you in her excitement. "And besides, I saw you a few days ago."

“Yes, but I missed you.”

You adore your younger sister - still rebellious, the only way a teenager can be, but with a gentle, caring curiosity that is starkly similar to your mother’s. You hope beyond hope that she always stays this way.

You roll your eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“Sadly, no. I tried calling you to wish you a happy birthday, but you didn’t answer. Where have you been?” A strand of hair ends up between her lips as she thinks through all possibilities regarding your disappearance.

"She was a little preoccupied," Anya chirps, joining you both in the foyer. She is wearing her most unbecoming pair of sweats, hair disheveled and looking far worse for wear than you are this morning. That doesn't stop you from glaring at her.

"Where were you? Did you have a party? You didn't invite me?" Your sister whines. She pouts and folds her arms over her chest, doing her best to guilt you the way she always knows how.

"You're a child."

"I am not." Her pout grows.

You roll your eyes again before laughing. "I love you. Train with me later?"

Her pout turns to a smile instantaneously.  "Hell ya. I got a competition coming up and I can use a practice dummy."

You and Anya both bark out a laugh. You put Octavia into a headlock as you drag her down the hallway and into the kitchen, Anya commentating and jeering at your younger sister.

"Girls," Indra warns from the stove, stirring whatever delicious concoction the Five Star Chef prepared for your brunch. She then pulls out a tray of cookies from the stove and you immediately let go of your little sister in hopes of wrapping your hands around something much better.

"So what did you do?" Octavia asks.

Indra swats at your hand when you steal a fresh cookie from her tray. "When?"

"Your birthday. Did you have a  _ girl _ over?"

"No, I didn't have a  _ girl _ over," you mock. You attempt to grab another cookie and are thwarted in your effort by Indra's spatula across your knuckles.

"Wenf foo a frip frub" Anya supplies with a mouth full of cookie.

_ How the hell did she get that cookie? _

Indra quirks a brow at your eldest sister, who is wearing a dopey grin as she takes a few quick steps away from the chef with deadly aim with a spatula.

"What?" Octavia asks.

"Went to a strip club," Indra translates, turning back to her masterpiece on the stove.

"You what?!" Octavia asks, her cookie devastatingly falling to the ground.

_ How the hell did she get a cookie, too? _

Feeling uncomfortable, your cheeks blaze red and Indra sends you a knowing, teasing look.

"I'm almost thirty!" You complain to no one in particular.

"You went without me!" Octavia whines.

"You're a child!" You retort.

"Am not!" She pouts.

Indra consoles the younger Woods with another cookie, much to Octavia's delight.

"Anyway, ya I went to a strip club." You try your best to sneak a cookie, but a spatula finds its way against the back of your hand in a flash.

"Was it fun?"

"Definitely," Anya chimes in. You roll your eyes at your overly horny sister.

As Octavia starts peppering Anya with questions about your evening, you slip out of the room. You know you have a half hour before your father bothers to grace you all with his presence and the idea of explaining anything related to the strip club to your sister makes your skin crawl.

You wander down the halls until you find yourself in your mother's art room, canvases covered with sheets to protect them from the dust that has collected. It's been a long time since someone other than yourself has opened this door. Titus never visits this room. He is better to pretend that she never died at all than to spend time reminiscing about the mother of his children.

Your fingers trace the dust on the large canvas on the far right of the room. You gently remove the cover, sneezing twice before the dust settles around you.

Once it clears, you stare at the eyes looking back at you. Three shades of eyes. Green, hazel, blue. It's your favourite painting of all. Your fingers trace the raised edges of the paint and you hear her laughter in your head while your mother tried to get you and your sisters to sit still long enough where the light filtered in, for her to capture you all on canvas.

She didn't realize it then, but she, herself, was the light that filled the room.

A throat is cleared from the doorway, and her laughter is lost, slipping through your fingers like sand.

You try not to snarl at the interruption.

"Alexandria," your father greets with a bow of his head. "So glad you could join us." You feel the sharp prick of disappointment in his tone.

You nod, and for less than a second his eyes flit around the room. He clenches his jaw and stands up a little taller, distancing himself from the memories.

"Come. Lunch is ready." He is gone as soon as it comes out of his mouth, and your shoulders drop just a little in relief of his absence. You take a lingering last look at your mother's artwork, a heavy sigh leaving your lips before slipping out of her room and closing the door to her memory.

Once you're all seated - Octavia across from you, Anya to your right, your father at the heat of the table, Titus turns to you. He says nothing, letting the silence build as he takes a sip from his glass of red wine. You all know to wait until he addresses you before speaking. "I am thoroughly impressed by your ability to tear yourself away from whatever… activities you are partaking in to join us today."

"Wouldn't dream of missing this." You make no attempt to hide the sarcasm in your words.

"As always, your priorities are impeccable. Where were you yesterday? I had Lucy attempt to contact you to wish you birthday greetings."

"Your secretary."

"Actually, she is your secretary." He cuts his food, placing a delicate serving in his fork before putting it in his mouth. He chews it slowly, methodically. After patting the corners of his mouth with his napkin, he asks, "so, where were you?"

"At a strip club!" Octavia supplies, secondhand excitement making her almost wiggle out of her seat. She has no regard for your father's expectations and even less for his temper.

Titus quirks a brow at you, searching for an answer. "Spending company money I assume."

"Spending my own," you snark back.

"Did you partake in the nightly activities in order to obtain such money?" He is quickly becoming red in the face as his judgement surfaces.

"No."

"Then where the hell did you get it?!" He clears his throat after his voice raises, and pats his mouth again with his napkin.

You grind your teeth, hoping to remain calm through this storm. "Photography."

"Your mother and I expressly told you that it was a waste of time."

"Mother actually loved my photography. She encouraged me to continue with it."

Titus scoffs.

You roll your eyes.

"She is quite good, father," Anya defends you always. You squeeze her thigh in appreciation.

"Stay out of this." Titus snaps. Anya just rolls her eyes, uncaring of his temper as well.

The two of you make these visits because your father still holds control of Octavia's livelihood. Your mother signed the company over to the three of you in her will; however, Octavia is still a child and therefore has no access to her shares - they are still owned by your father. You all play nice until she comes of age to take her third of the company and you can be done with the sullen, overbearing man that is your father.

You shrug. "It was my birthday. It was fun. I enjoyed it. So you can stew in your saltiness and we'll leave or you can relax and enjoy this lovely meal that Indra has so kindly prepared for us."

After an awkward five minutes of complete silence, Titus raises his filled wine glass in the air. "Happy birthday, Alexandria. I do hope that you return to your position as head of the company with a new understanding of responsibility with your age."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" You snarl. You're done with pretending this lunch is anything but your father's attempt to talk to you about returning to work.

"Come now. Let's save the arguing for after dessert." Indra interrupts, stepping in to clear the plates. "I made your favourite, Lexa."

"Pussy?" Octavia remarks.  Anya nearly spits out her food.

You can't help but smile at your younger sister as she grins mischievously at your father, who looks like he's about to break his fork.

"Tiramisu." Indra corrects, fighting and failing to suppress a smile.

"Thank you, Indra."

Your sisters and Indra sing Happy birthday while your father sits as stoic as ever at the head of the table.

"When will you be returning?" He asks the second the dessert is whisked away.

You have no intention of returning any time soon, and you know that's not what he's asking. "I suppose the next Sunday I am free for lunch, again."

"You know that's not what I meant."

You shrug.

"Really Alexandria, this childish display of defiance has gone on long enough. Photography. Strip clubs. It's as though you've regressed to being a child."

"Anya is handling the company just fine in my absence."

"She is a temporary solution."

"You might want to be careful how you speak of your offspring, father. She is, after all, leading in your footsteps."

Titus huffs and rolls his eyes.

"I gotta head out anyway. Lovely chatting as always," you say, raising from the table as you eye your sisters. You have stayed well beyond your comfort level, and you need to get out of there before you completely snap.

"Where are you going?"

"Far away from here," you grumble to yourself. "I'll see you at the dojo, Octavia," you say to your sister.

You spend another twenty minutes in the kitchen with Indra as she dotes over you. You love the attention as she hands you a hand wrapped bottle filled with her favourite blend of spices. She has been cooking for your family for almost twenty years. She is practically a second mother to you, and an actual mother to Octavia.

"Thank you. I would enjoy it if you came over and allowed me to cook for you using these spices, Indra."

"And have you ruin them for me? Please. I will concoct an entirely new blend for you, love." You nod, and she gives you a warm, tender hug.

It makes your chest ache for your mother's touch.

***

"Jesus, Lex, chill out!" Octavia whines as you pin her arm behind her back. "I fucking yield, God damnit!"

You take your knee off her back and let her roll over, puffing hard breaths. You wipe the sweat from your brow and haul her to her feet by her outstretched hand.

"Again?" You ask, wide smile on your face. You feel so much better being out of the clutches of your father. He is like a dark hole, sucking you into his miserable existence every time you're near.

She huffs and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Give me five minutes, you nearly broke my arm."

"You let your guard drop." You respond. You walk over to the bench and grab your towel, throwing it over your shoulders and guzzling down water from your bottle. Octavia follows, bent over with her hands on her knees as she regains her breath from your beat down.

"So explain this to me again," she says, wiping her brow. "You went to a strip club."

You groan loudly.

"Seriously. You went to a strip club with Anya - by the way, not impressed with you not inviting me -"

"You're a child."

"I'm seventeen!"

"And not old enough to get in."

"Ugh, fine, whatever. But, okay, you go to a strip club -,"

"As we've established -"

"And you get a stripper to put her hoo-ha and her Gravity defying cleavage in your face -"

"Gravity defying -  _ Octavia _ !"

"And then she talks to you. Offers you a dance - to which you accept, but not really, because you literally didn't let her dance because you're an ignoramus -"

"Big word."

"Fuck you - but somehow, this girl falls for you -"

"Honestly, who told you these facts?"

"Anya. Stop changing the subject - so she wants to do the nasty with you -"

"Okay, yeah, no, Octavia -"

"And you don't kiss her. Are you straight or are you slow?"

You swipe at her leg with a quick roundhouse, sending her flopping onto her backside in a heap. "Ow!"

"It'll do you well to stop talking about women that way -"

"What way? She's a stripper?" Your younger sibling exclaims. When you shift your hips to feign another kick, Octavia flinches hard and covers her legs. "I'm joking! Yeesh! You know I don't think that."

"I know you're young and naive and inundated with Titus' judgemental teachings."

"You  _ also _ know that I have two kick-ass sisters who completely refute his old school ways. Even if one of my sisters is an asshole." She runs her hand over her sore calf. You hoist her up again and she plops down onto the bench next to you. "So, when are you going to see her again?"

"I'm not." You clench your jaw at any residual longing that tries to surface.

"That makes no sense."

You sigh. "It's… complicated."

"So, uncomplicate it. You know where she works."

Before you can refute, she snaps her fingers. "I know what I want for my birthday next month!"

She stares at you, bouncing on her seat in excitement. It takes you a moment as the wheels turn in your head. Your eyes widen in realization and you immediately shake your head. "No."

"Yes. I'll be eighteen! I'll be an adult, you can't say no!"

" _ Octavia _ ," you plead. You continue shaking your head as you scramble to shut this idea down before it takes flight. "You can't - I -"

"Too late. My mind is already made up." And with that, Octavia is back in the middle of the mats, jumping from foot to foot and ready to continue sparring.

You're still stuck on the bench, gaping up at your younger sister as you try to figure out what just happened.

"You ready to get your ass kicked?" She taunts, a dangerous glint in her eye.

You fumble your way out to the centre of the mat, mind whirling at the prospect of seeing the blonde for a second time.

Octavia pins you in less than ten seconds.

***

You spend  _ way _ too much time trying to decide what outfit to wear. Again, you grimace when you look in your closet, noting that there is still way too much flannel. You opt for a simple black t-shirt, dark blue jeans and your combat boots.

It's simple. It's easy. It's a clear attempt at trying to downplay how much time you've spent looking in your closet.

Not that anyone would notice.

Not that she would notice.

_ Right _ ? She probably won't even remember you.

Your fingers shake when you turn off your bike in the parking lot of the gentlemen's club. Octavia is like a giant puppy, stumbling from Anya's SUV, overcome with excitement of seeing tits and ass and drinking far too much alcohol. She is wild and free and young, and you adore her all the more for how different she is to you.

The bouncers scrutinize her ID, and the beaming smile she gives them when they welcome her to the establishment is enough to have you laughing aloud.

Your eyes scan the place quickly, already searching for blonde hair and pale skin. You wipe your palms on your pants, sweaty and unsure and trying your best to pretend you’re much more calm than you are. Because it’s inevitable to see her tonight, you know.

Unless, maybe, she's in Shadow Valley.

You hope that she is - you hope that she isn’t.

You hope you can just make it through the night.

You last almost fifteen minutes before your eyes catch the long legs of the latina Anya has become so smitten with. Raven sees your table from where she is playing pool with some gentlemen, and the smile that splits her face has you trembling. It's a smile that says she remembers you.

“Hola, ladies,” she says as she approaches. She scans Octavia. “Another family member?”

“Sister,” you and Anya both chime.

Raven rolls her eyes and sits in Anya's lap with a familiarity that would be concerning if your sister hadn't been raving about her since the day you all met. “Honestly, how the fuck did you three all come from the same person? There must be some sort of witchcraft involved with these genes.”

Octavia blushes a deep shade of red, all of her bravado evaporating from the heat in her cheeks at the sight of a scantily clad woman.

“So, what are we celebrating?”

“Ah!” Anya says, almost forgetting tradition.

Octavia whines, and you hold her still until Anya plops the tiara on her head for Raven to see. “Someone turned eighteen today!”

“No way!” Raven says, almost too happily. “Sexy  _ and _ legal.”

“Awkward,” a vice says from behind you. The rasp is one that has haunted you in the best of ways for the past month. It's the same rasp you hear when you find your hand wandering down between your thighs on nights you can't sleep. The same rasp you hear as you climax, hand slick with your wetness and the thought of her lips, her eyes, her hand instead of yours.

Blue eyes lock onto yours, and her smile leaves you as breathless as the first time. "Hey, Prince Charming."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, fam. Life, pride, allergies, general sleepiness, you name it.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> HMU on Tumblr and instagram @jordswriteswords if you wanna chat :D


	4. Chapter 4 - Clarke

You spot her from the moment she walks in. 

Of course you do. You've been searching for her in the crowd every night since the first time. 

Your eyes trace her frame, from her wavy hair to her long legs. A surge of heat flares in your stomach; your fingers tingle; your heart flutters.

You're  _ nervous _ .

But, Clarke Griffin does not _get_ nervous in front of pretty girls. Clarke Griffin _makes_ pretty girls nervous.

And yet, this is the second time the brunette made your knees weak just by her presence.

You wonder if she even remembers you. You never saw her again, so you assume the chivalry and those pretty words were helium filled, floating away as the sun rose.

You sigh at the thought. Your shoulders slump and you all but deflate as you stand in the far corner of the room.

"You can't get enough of me, sweetheart?" The customer - Glint or Flint or Quint or something - says, patting your butt with his ogre-like hand. 

You smile down patronizingly. "Unless you have another twenty, I'm not sure what you're expecting to happen here."

He purses his lips with distaste as he moves his hand, because, of course he doesn't have another twenty. You know you shouldn't sass the clientele, but…

You nod and take two steps towards the middle of the club - toward  _ her _ -

\- only to quickly turn about face, heading straight back into the locker room.

_What is wrong with you_? It's _just_ a job. She is _just_ a girl _._

The stirring in your stomach alerts you to your own lie.

It's fifteen minutes before you emerge from  the locker room. Bellamy comes to check on you, your absence making the worrywart develop another wrinkle on his forehead.

"I'm fine, Bell. Aren't you always pestering me to take breaks?"

He rolls his eyes, but waits until you leave the sanctuary of your changeroom before letting his forehead smooth out.

Your palms are sweaty as you maneuver through the chairs of the club. The only part of your outfit with enough real-estate to wipe them on is your neon coloured bra, and you feel idiotic for fondling yourself with no customer to prompt you to do so.

You're making a wide loop of the chairs - purposefully avoiding the section where you know she sits. 

You feel like a fucking stalker.

_ What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you? _

Green eyes flicker in your direction, looking away just as quickly, and you stumble into the back of a chair, apologizing profusely as you spill beer on the table full of men. One laughs and lets his hand trail down your waist as you move, and you would stop to greet him, make some easy cash with a quick lapper, if you weren't so fixated on moving towards - while somehow avoiding - the brunette in front of you.

You ball your hands into one another, nervously playing with your fingers as you take a fortifying breath and a step closer, done with your nerves leading the way.

"Sexy  _ and  _ legal," your best friend says. You appreciate the way the younger, new, brunette turns a cherry red; the way the crown glistens in the neon light. It sends you hurtling back to the night you met Lexa and your heart stutters before kicking into a higher gear.

"Awkward," you blurt out before you've fully recovered from the memory. Your mind reels as you scramble to say something -  _ anything  _ \- to cover the uneasy tremble in your voice.

And then  _ she _ looks at you and smiles, and everything inside you melts. Her eyes soften to match the ooey-gooey mush of your heart, sucking you in like seafoam and pulling you under.

_ She remembers you. _

You breathe out a sigh of relief, a lazy smirk appears in the corner of your mouth, and your confidence comes flooding back. "Hey, Prince Charming." 

She chews her bottom lip, a losing battle to suppress a bashful smile. "Hi." 

You nearly kiss her when her voice squeaks out the word.

She clears her voice, her sister laughs, the other girl elbows her in the ribs, and Lexa turns a pretty shade of pink. "Hi," she repeats much more softly.

"Hey." Your head tilts to the side, smile never leaving your face as you study her. She looks…  _ good. _ You've been staring at her this entire time, but there is something about her that screams sexy, even when she's nervous.

"Do you, umm, do you wanna join us?" She shifts back in her seat, opening herself to your presence and welcoming you to the group.

_ That _ .  _ That _ right there is the subtle sexiness that sends your mind reeling. Who knew that genuine kindness did it for you?

You nod, and force your eyes slide over to the youngest of the group, noting the way she fidgets like a child full of energy. She definitely looks all of eighteen. _ Barely  _ legal, and easy pickings.

"Who do we have here?" You ask, leaning forward to allow your breasts to nearly spill out of your chest. The girl's eyes widen comically, and her cheeks burst into flames as she fights to keep her eyes above your neck. 

If leaning forward has positioned your ass in Lexa's face, then that's just a bonus for you. 

"Octavia," the new girl answers. 

Lexa clears her throat, and Octavia extends her hand violently to you to shake.

"Baby sister," Lexa adds.

It's cute, the way she tries to be courteous like her older sister.

You stifle a laugh and reach out to shake her clammy hand. "I'm Phoenix. Nice to meet you, Octavia." 

Her responding smile is adorable and starkly similar to the elder Woods sisters. You can definitely see the resemblance.

Lexa pulls a chair into the open space between her and her sister and gestures for you to sit. You thank her quietly and feel a small thrill when  her hand hovers over your leg when you sit.

And then she pulls away.

Of course.

So, you let your hand fall onto her thigh instead. She relaxes into a smile as she looks down at your hand, hesitating, then finally placing her hand atop yours. She turns those pearly whites on you, and the pleased look she wears nearly leaves you breathless. The sudden cocky wink she gives definitely throws you, and you blurt out the first thing you think of. "I never thought I'd see you again." 

"Are you disappointed?" She quirks a brow.

_ Oh _ , someone is feeling a lot more confident tonight.

"Elated." You respond, squeezing the muscle of her thigh. Her cheeks flush, and you chuckle, her cockiness lasting all of three seconds. She squeezes your hand in response. 

"Hey, lovebirds, I'm the reason you're even here!" Octavia reminds. 

You laugh and sling your other arm around the back of her chair. The young girl's eyes slip to your chest.

"Like what you see? There is  _ plenty _ of me to go around." You cross your legs and push your chest closer to her, calling out her wandering gaze.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you cheer at the fact that your hand is still entwined with Lexa's.

"I am not blind," Octavia acknowledges. "Your gravity defying tits are all my sister's talked about for the past month, and I totally see why."

Lexa groans and runs her free hand down her face. "So embarrassing. Why don't you bother Anya?"

"Anya's busy!" Raven yells from her seat. She grabs Anya's hand and yanks her from her chair. "Be back in a bit. Suddenly have a dance!"

You whistle after your friend before turning back to the girls.

"Is that so? Should I trademark them? GDT?" You ask around a laugh, letting your mischievous eyes fall on your favourite brunette. 

She turns a bright pink and rolls her eyes as she nods. "You're gorgeous. And impossible to forget." 

She says it so matter of factly that you fall speechless, and there's a lingering moment between you two, your eyes finding green ones like a tether.

Octavia clears her throat, happy to remind you of her presence and break the mounting tension between you and her sister. You turn to her. "So, Octavia, how does it feel to be an adult?"

The young girl shrugs. "Same shit, different day." 

"You frequent strip clubs often?" Lexa asks, raising a brow, calling her bluff.

Hands trailing her neck in embarrassment, she says, "Right, well, no, okay,  _ that's  _ different." 

When Lexa's brow never drops, Octavia scoffs in exasperation. "Fine!" She throws her hands up. "I was trying to sound cool. It's fucking epic! This is the first time Lex has taken me out!"

Offended, Lexa snaps, "We  _ literally  _ went out for ice cream two nights ago."

"This is  _ different _ ! And you're a prude."

"I am not." Lexa sticks her tongue out at her sister.

Octavia folds her arms petulantly. "You're so serious. This is the wildest thing I've known you to do other than when you just up and left -"

Suddenly, Octavia clams up faster than a Venus fly trap. "Uh - it's awesome," she says, face flushing and eyes falling to the floor.

The air becomes heavy as the sisters trade looks in a silent conversation. 

"Alright!" You clap your hands to break the heated glare from one sister to another. "Who wants a shot? Octavia?"

You obviously make the right call as Octavia's face lights up like a kid on Christmas. Lexa defers, stating she's driving, and chuckles at the exaggerated pout you give her. She squeezes your hand.

_ Oh right _ , you're  _ still _ holding her hand.

You wave Harper over and the sisters order a round for you and Octavia. When she returns with the shots, you all cheers (Lexa, with her water) and wish Octavia a happy birthday. She slings back the shot and splutters, coughing up the burning liquid. Lexa laughs and you pat the birthday girl on the back. 

"You want a birthday dance, kid?" Lexa asks Octavia when her coughing finally stops.

She nods vigorously.

You look around to check out who else is working. "What's your pleasure?" You ask.

She lets her eyes fall to your chest, then trail back up to your face. "You."

"Oh, um," you furrow your brows, then look to  Lexa. A lot of customers hate the idea of sharing. To the point that there have been one too many 'gentlemanly' scuffles over women that technically aren't theirs. Lexa is trailing her hand down her face, but she is laughing at her baby sister.

"Whatever you want, birthday girl, but I don't know if you're going to be able to handle it," Lexa says. She looks over at you, "I mean, if that's alright with you, Phoenix. Please don't feel obligated by my sister's sex drive."

"I wouldn't have a job if it weren't for sex drives. Also, how would you know what she can handle? You didn't let me dance."

She shrugs. 

You let your smile soften at her confidence in you. But you're feeling insecure, and a little manipulative, so you come up with a half cocked plan, and a whole cocked desire to see green eyes blaze with lust.

You want to see  _ her _ want _ you _ .

You're  _ going  _ to dance for her tonight.

"Your loss," you tease, turning your attention to Octavia. You let go of Lexa's hand and note that she doesn't let go right away, the touch lingering as you stand. 

"Come," you command the sisters. You take them to the VIP room and the two girls sit at opposite ends of the couch. 

"Why are there so many mirrors in here?" Octavia asks as she looks around.

"You'll see, hun," you respond, closing the door with a soft click.

The music overhead changes to a slow, bass heavy song, a sensuous and dirty rhythm planning out your moves. 

You place the handkerchief across Octavias lap and lean forward, bopping her on the nose with your index finger. Her lips twitch with an anticipatory smile. "Stay still."

You step back and shift your hips from left to right, letting your arms raise over your head and your right hand slide down your left forearm in time with the music. You let the rhythm take you away.

Octavia's eyes bulge in her head, and you smile at her, but your focus is actually on the girl you can see through the mirror in front of you. 

You roll your hips back, slowly lowering your other arm to your neck and down your chest, pushing your hips back into the empty space with a bend to your knee. 

The angle is perfect for both girls. Octavia can see your generous cleavage, and Lexa can see your ass. 

You let your arms trail down your front until your hands cup your breasts. You circle them for a moment, then slide down your stomach to your crotch. You place your left hand on your knee and send a glance over your shoulder to the mirror, locking eyes with Lexa before letting your right hand stroke your sex.

She can  _ definitely  _ see. She doesn't blink once while you touch yourself.

You lick your lips, then squat down slowly, returning your focus to the birthday girl and dropping to your knees in front of Octavia. You bounce up and down, chuckling when Octavia smiles at your bouncing breasts.

You lean forward, crawling towards the younger girl, her blue eyes dark with lust and smile wide with excitement. It makes you feel hot, but when you pop your back in time with the bass and glance back at Lexa in the mirror, you feel even hotter from seeing  _ her _ white knuckled grip.

You slowly move up Octavia's lap, pushing her knees apart so you can get close to her sex with your breasts. You glide yourself up and against her until your face is against her neck, panting in her ear. "You ever been with a woman?" 

She shakes her head, an audible swallow coming from her throat, so you let the train of thought run wild in her head while you glance at the mirror directly behind her. Lexa's heated stare is burning your skin. You return the wanton gaze through the glass for a moment while you gyrate on her sister.

When Lexa looks nearly ready to join you, you stand up straight and move back, turning away from the birthday girl, facing Lexa. 

She licks her lips and blinks slowly, focused on your eyes. You wink at her, reach behind yourself and and slowly untie your bikini top.

She digs her nails into the material of the couch when the strings of your bikini fall to the side.

You swing your hips to the beat of the music and throw your top to the floor. Lexa's lips part and she breathes out a heavy, lust filled breath. 

Perfect.

You abruptly turn back to the girl of the hour, and Octavia's mouth literally drops open when she sees your pink, pert nipples facing her.

She's too easy.

"See something you like?" You tease.

She nods.

You step closer to her. Her eyes never leave your chest while you wiggle out of your bottoms, using Octavia's shoulder to balance yourself (because there really is no sexy way to take them off with stripper heels) and laugh at the way she suddenly becomes fixated on the curve of your vagina. 

You turn to let her take you in - secretly to keep tabs on Lexa - then bend at the waist to expose your behind and your sex right to the birthday girl's face. You twerk your ass and look up, seeing Lexa's leg bouncing uncontrollably. You send her a mocking smile, knowing that this could have been for her. She sends you back a pitiful one.

Once you finish your staredown with Lexa, you stand and turn, and kick Octavia's legs together. You slide your hands down her front, starting from her hair to her neck, letting your nails trail along her collarbones and down her arms. Goosebumps erupt on her skin and she laughs uncomfortably at herself.

"You're allowed to enjoy it. No judgement."

She nods and chews her lip.

You sit on her lap, your back pressing against her front. Octavia let's out a little whimper and you reach behind and scratch her scalp in reassurance. You grind back into her lap and her whimper turns to a grunt.

You focus on the girl in front of you, though - Lexa. You watch her struggle. Her knee is bouncing at an unprecedented speed, and her knuckles are white to match the leather couch.

You take Octavia's hands from her sides and slide them up your body, starting from your thighs, your stomach, under your breasts, until they're cupping them in her palms.

Lexa's eye twitches at the sight. So, you squeeze Octavia's hands over your chest, and let out a practiced dirty moan for effect. You lean back into her space, running your hand through her hair again and still looking at her sister. 

When Lexa locks back onto your eyes, you go in for the kill shot.

You spread your legs wide on Octavia's lap, your glistening sex completely exposed to Lexa. You press back into Octavia so she thinks the way she touches you feels good, but it's actually so Lexa has a better view. 

At first, Lexa's eyes never stray from yours. You bite your lip and moan again when Octavia rolls your nipple between her fingers, and Lexa finally -  _ finally - _ cracks. 

Her eyes slip down to where you want her to look, lingering for a few beats. You take your own hand and run your fingers through your folds, noting that you're  _ so fucking wet  _ from this game you're playing, and that Lexa has finally stopped fidgeting. Her focus is  _ right _ where you want it.

When you pull your fingers away and put them in your mouth, Lexa's eyes follow. You continue to dance on her sister while you lick your own fingers clean, eyes focused on the green eyed beauty. You pull them out with a slick 'pop' and her body has completely stilled as she watches you with hungry eyes.

You smirk, knowing you've won.

The final few bars of the song has started, so you turn to straddle her sister, knowing you need to wrap up. You move her hands to your ass and dance on her while she chews on her bottom lip like a baby gay trying to ask a girl they like if she's into girls.

Just as the song finishes, you lean forward so your breath is hot against Octavia's cheek. "Happy birthday," you whisper, then plant a kiss on her jaw.

Octavia whines and flops back against the chair as you push back to a sitting position. "How was that for a birthday gift?" You ask.

"Oh my - lord - fuck - balls - whoa."

You belt out a laugh at her stuttering.

She holds your waist to steady you as she looks over your shoulder. "Lexa, you're a fucking moron! How could you say no to this?!"

You laugh even harder at that, falling into her and chuckling against her shoulder.

"Shots. I need shots. And water. Phoenix set me on fire. Someone - shots!" 

You shift off her lap and sit back on the leather couch. Octavia springs off the couch, fanning herself. You smile over at Lexa, who is rolling her eyes at her sister.

"I need water. I'm gonna - back - be - gonna -" Octavia looks at you again as she stumbles to the door, shaking her head. "Wow." And then she disappears.

Lexa grumbles in embarrassment.

"She's so cute."

"She's annoying," Lexa corrects.

"I can't be mad. At least  _ someone _ here likes me."

"I like you," Lexa blurts out. Her eyes are still black when she looks your way. Her voice has dropped to an almost predatory purr.

It's hot.

"Oh?" You tease, pulling your knees onto the couch and crawling towards her _. _

She clears her throat.

"You're not jealous that I did all that with your sister?"

She gives you a puzzled look. "What? No."

You don't try to hide the disappointment. Or the confusion. "Why don't you want me?"

"That's not true. You're you, remember? Your own person. I could never  _ own _ you, so I can't be jealous. That doesn't mean I -" her eyes drop to your breasts. "- that I, um, don't want you."

"Lexa…" You're emboldened by the way her eyes dilate when they look at you; the way the hunger in her is palpable. 

You straddle her lap, and nearly melt into the familiarity.

"You forgot the handkerchief," she says as her hands settle on your waist of their own accord. 

Finally.

"I don't care." You should be embarrassed for the utter want dripping from your lips (both sets). "I want you to feel me."

She groans, and you push your hips down to rub your bare cunt against her lap. Her fingers squeeze around your waist. "Do you think about me when you touch yourself?"

"Yes." She practically whispers. You feel a wave of heat run right through you at the thought.

"Is it my hands touching you when you come?" You gradually press harder against her.

"No." You know there's more to it, so You run your hands down her neck in encouragement. 

"No?"

She follows the tips of your fingers with her eyes when they move down her chest. She clears her throat. "I'm touch -" you let your lips trace the trail your fingers started on her neck. "I'm fucking you," she squeaks.

You hum against her neck and watch the goosebumps appear. "Tell me how."

She grunts.

"Tell me how," you repeat. You take her hands and put them on your ass, pulling yourself against her. 

"You're underneath me -," 

you grind down on her lap. She groans. 

"- and I've got two fingers inside you -," 

You let your teeth graze her pulse point. 

"- And I'm sucking on your breasts as you come on my fingers."

You let your tongue trace up her neck to her ear. You moan after the last sentence and bite down on her earlobe. Her fingers clench into your skin, leaving what you're sure will be nail marks behind and she pulls your hips against her with force.

She shivers. She nods. Her breathing becomes shaky, and you realize your aren't the only one close to release.

You pull her hands up until they're over your breasts. She swallows hard when you squeeze down.  You lean your forehead against hers, and breathe your next question against her lips. "Do you want me?"

"God, yes," she breathes.

_ Thank fuck. _

You move your head into her shoulder and work your way to the precipice of orgasm. As you move your hips methodically, you let your teeth find her shoulder and bite down to stifle a moan that nearly catches you by surprise. 

She whimpers.

"Tell me what you want to do to me," you turn your face and whisper in her ear. If you can't actually fuck her, you want to get off on the fantasy. You want to get  _ her _ off on the fantasy.

Her face contorts in pleasure, and she swallows a few times before answering. "I want…"

You press down against her lap again and she chokes off the sentence with a groan.

"I want to… take you on a date."

You move your fingers through her hair and tug to expose her neck. You let your teeth skim under her jaw. She moans. 

You're so close.

"Wait, uh - I - what's your name?" She fumbles to get out between harsh breaths.

"What?" You shift back, hands still pressing her hands to your breasts in a comical way, and look down at her. Your hips still moving at a slower pace.

"You're all I've been thinking about and I don't know your name. It's just - if I'm - I want to know you. I know you don't have to tell me, but, I just - I -"

"Clarke." You blurt it out without a second thought.

She shuts up, although her mouth hangs open in shock. 

"My name is Clarke."

"Clarke." She says, rolling it around in her tongue. Your thighs clench around her at the sound of it from her lips. The soft C and the sharp K. God, it's sexy. "It's nice to meet you."

You assume that this is part of the fantasy. That she wants to come with your actual name on her lips. "You, too. Now, touch me." 

She moves her hands to your waist and squeezes. "Clarke, wait." It comes out hot and fast and frantic.

Your hips stop, your clit throbbing as you teeter on the edge of climax. She wraps her arms around you and lets her head fall to your shoulder, a frustrated sigh escaping her. "I'm sorry."

You realize that this isn't at all part of her fantasy. This is her being genuine.

Your heart melts.

"Don't you dare apologize." You bury your nose in her chestnut locks, and inhale the scent of coconut shampoo while your heart rate settles and reality sets in.

"I'm serious about the date. Food.  _ Clothes _ . Me walking you home. First kiss. Real kiss. I mean, if you, um, if you want, that is."

So. Fucking. Cute.

"I do." You hate the way she perks up. "But, Lexa, I - I can't."

You can actually feel her deflate against you. "If we had met anywhere else," you continue.

"- I know." She is already shaking her head, and you feel awful. You've rejected so many people in your line of work, but this one hurts. You twirl a lock of her hair between your fingers, unable to look her in the eye. 

From her downturned lips, she can't look you in the eye either. "You probably think I'm a creep."

"Lexa, no. I don't. I would never judge you for putting yourself out there, you idiot."

"I'm pretty sure that's judgement I'm hearing."

"Lex -" you cup her cheeks, directing her gaze back to yours. "Every time someone here has asked me out, it's because they think it's an easy lay. You stopped -" you gesture to the space between you, "whatever was happening here to ask me out. I don't think you're a creep. I think you're charming. I want to say yes. I want you to walk me home.  _ God,  _ I want to kiss you. If we were anywhere but here, I'd say yes. Even to the ridiculous notion of wearing  _ clothes. _ " You make a face and sigh in relief when she laughs.

She nods and let's her eyes drop to her lap. You play with the ends of her hair again. "Maybe we meet again outside of here. Ask me then. I'll say yes."

She perks up and looks at you. "Seriously?"

You nod. "I just can't in good conscience say yes like this. And, it's in my contract that I can't. If we meet outside of here, then it's fair game." 

She nods. "I get it. Maybe we meet again, then."

"Maybe we meet again," you smile.

After a long minute of looking into green eyes, you grind down again and pull a dirty moan from her lips, and regretfully move from her lap, frustrated, but content with just her smile.

"Jerk," she whines, clenching her thighs as her cheeks turn pink.

You laugh even more, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. "And to think, I was about to do some dirty things on your lap before you went and ruined it with your stupid Prince Charming act."

She groans and pushes your shoulder until you both fall over with giggles.

***

"Clarke Abigail Griffin!" Raven yells. She parades around your apartment in sweats and a tank top, banging on pots and pans with other pots and pans. 

_ Fucking, asshole.  _

"Get your ass up! It is time to get the fucking groceries! I am starving!"

"Do you not have food in your  _ own  _ apartment?" You yell from your bed.

"I do," Raven says, leaning against your open doorway. "But  _ your  _ food is so much better."

You roll away from her, shielding your eyes from the light with your blanket. "Honestly, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself, but I already know you do that regularly."

"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" She asks, feigning indignance. She jumps onto the mattress and for a split second you enjoy the fantasy of slamming a pillow in her face.

"That's hard to do with her not speaking to me since I moved out here."

"I mean, saying, 'hey, mama Griff, I'm moving to another city to take my clothes off for strangers' does cause a bit of resentment."

You roll over and glare at your friend. She shrugs. 

You throw the comforter off and get up, grumbling as you move about your room.

Raven disappears while you're looking for a shirt, and comes back with a piping got coffee by the time you finish. You're wearing your crimson Harvard sweatpants - the ones you got your freshman year before you dropped out- and the first shirt you find - a green tank top. You're tired and you're in no mood to shop, let alone find  _ matching  _ clothes. 

You chug your coffee, throwing it into the empty sink. You throw your hair up into a hardly acceptable bun, and slide on your flip flops over your mismatched socks and stand impatiently at the front door.

"You look disgusting."

"I didn't get home until five in the morning, Ray."

"Blah blah blah. Yes, I am aware as I was also there watching you eye fuck Lexa all night. You two really just need to get it on and get over it."

Your cheeks flush at just how close you were to doing so. "She's a customer."

Raven rolls her eyes. "Let's go, it's almost noon."

You look at the clock on your phone and whine. "It's 9:45."

"Almost noon somewhere. Vamanos, let's go."

***

You're dragging your feet, leaning against the cart as Raven skips through the aisles. Really, you're not even sure why you're here other than to listen to her rave about Anya and how Bellamy was playing the best tracks to fuck to last night.

You're sure if you weren't so exhausted you would be peppering her with questions about  _ why  _ she's bringing up Anya and fucking so much.

But, you're too tired.

Your jaw cracks with a yawn as you grab the box of Lucky Charms from the shelf, glaring at Raven as she sends you a disapproving look. 

_ "I'm serious, Lexa -" _

Your head snaps up at that name. The voice speaking is familiar, and definitely not your best friend who is staring intently at the different brands of Wheaties.

You peer through the shelf in front of you, and sure enough, on the other side is the young, Octavia, blabbering away as she mindlessly picks stuff from the display.

_ "Octavia, how are you not hung over? I didn't even drink and I'm exhausted." _

And she's  _ definitely  _ with Lexa.

You gasp and slam your hand over your mouth when Octavia stops and looks at the can  _ right  _ in front of you on the opposite side of the shelf.

_ "You're old, and you're exhausted from getting off to the thought of Phoenix all night. I could hear you moaning from the other room." _

_ "Fuck off, O!" _

You shake your head, and Raven looks at you strangely. You put your finger over your lips and push the cart as quietly as possible over to your friend. The wheel squeaks and you glare at it so hotly, a part of you assumes you just welded it.

"Clarke, what the -"

"-shhhhhhhut the fuck up!" You slam your hand over her mouth, pressing her up against the shelf. Three boxes of Wheaties fall to the floor.

"Farf, fuf fhr fell?!" Raven is glaring at you, her brows nearly touching while you stifle the sounds coming from her mouth. She licks your palm and you plead with your eyes to just  _ shut the fuck up _ .

_ "Did you hear that?" _ Octavia asks on the other side of the wall.  _ "Sounds like someone is trying to break down the damn aisle." _

_ "Is there nothing that you don't exaggerate, Octavia?" _

A lightbulb goes off in Raven's eyes. "Oh hi hod ifs fem!"

You glare. "If I remove my hand from your mouth, promise me you won't draw attention to yourself."

"I frofiff" Raven responds.

"Raven!" You whisper-shout.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her heart. "I fair, Farf."

You slowly remove your hand from her mouth and glare at her while she wipes the spit from her face.

"She's here, isn't she?!" She stage whispers.

You nod. "Oh my God! Clarke! You said you'd say yes if you met her outside of the club!"

"Raven!" You gesture to your outfit. "That is  _ not  _ possible today!"

"It's a  _ sign _ , Clarke! You  _ have  _ to!"

"No. Absolutely not." You shake your head. "There is no fucking way."

"She's seen you naked."

"I'd  _ rather  _ be naked than seen like  _ this!"  _ You gesture to your outfit again.

Raven rolls her eyes and groans. "Okay, fine, but how are you going to get out of here unscathed?"

"I don't  _ know,  _ Raven. Fuck." You run your hand through your hair, snagging on a knot. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

_ "Hey, Lexa, I forgot I need that oat cereal thing for Indra's cookies." _

_ "Oatmeal?" _

_ "Tomato, potato." _

_ "It's 'tomato, to-mah-to', and we're talking about cereal, O." _

"Oh my God!" You squeak. 

Raven can't hide the amusement in her eyes at the quick turning of events.

You spin around, trying to come up with an exit plan while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on which direction the girls are moving.

"What are you gonna do, Clarkey? If they don't see you now, surely they'll see you by the checkout. She said you're, 'impossible to forget', remember?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck!"  _ You're still spinning in circles as you think.

Slightly dizzy, you opt to do the first thing that comes to mind.

You run.

You run in the opposite direction that they're going, leaving Raven behind with your cart. 

"Clarke!" Raven stage whispers, ditching the cart to follow.

You're four aisles over before you turn to respond. Your flip flop bends underneath you, folding over and throwing your balance off.

In hindsight, you think you should have been more cognisant of the displays all over the store.

But as of right now,  _ fuck. _

There's a loud crash; the sound of glass shattering; and a sticky, sweet smelling substance  _ all over  _ you.  

You hear Raven gasp and her shoes squeak as she skids to a stop a foot away from your mess. "Oh my God!" She stifles a laugh as you slip and slide your way back to standing.

Because you're covered from head to toe in raspberry jam.

"Not a fucking  _ word _ , Reyes," you immediately snap.

"Clean up in aisle three!" She yells, helping you step out of the puddle of jam.

You grimace as you run your hands through your matted hair. 

"Well," your best friend says as she runs a finger down your shoulder, collecting the jam and popping it in her mouth. "She definitely won't recognize you now."

"Let's just get the fuck out of here." Your feet squelch as you power walk away from your friend. You ignore her laughter when you slip and nearly fall again.

As you exit the store, you catch the curious gaze of green eyes from the cereal aisle, and you thank God that she doesn't immediately recognize you.

May you meet again, in a - hopefully - less sticky situation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I think it's worth it, though.
> 
> I realized I had only been writing Clarke from a work perspective, and thought it'd be nice to see her be just like everyone else at the end (or beginning) of the day. It's just a glimpse of her being a normal person, but I know there will be more of it to come.
> 
> Hit me up with comments, questions, ponderings, memes, whatever! @ jordswriteswords on Tumblr and Instagram.


	5. Chapter 5 - Lexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The anniversary of Lexa's mom's passing.
> 
> TW - talking about their mothers death and Lexa's poor coping skills. Mentions of previous suicidal ideation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, lots of angst in this chapter. I am unable to write a fic without angst. I legitimately tried, though.  
> It all gets better. I swear it won't be dark for long.
> 
> Hit me up on Instagram and Tumblr @jordswriteswords

You start the day well before the sun rises, with a gasp and a racing heart. 

Tears leak down the sides of your face and into your ears. You wipe angrily at them, reach blindly for your alarm clock and sigh at the time.

3:13am. 

Of course you've woken at 3:13am.

You scramble to find your phone, squinting at the blinding light as you check your notifications. 

Nothing.

You drop it to the mattress and run a hand over your sweaty brow, collecting the moisture with a scoff.

You should try to get back to sleep.

Immediately after closing your eyes, you hear the shrill ringtone from your cell. 

You reach for your phone again, only to see the still blank screen.

Nothing.

You know that sleep will evade you for the remainder of the day. That hasn’t changed over the past two years. So, despite the heaviness of your limbs, you force yourself from the warmth of your bed. 

You check your phone again, slip it into your pocket and grab the weighted blanket that Anya bought you in that first year. You called it over the top, but on  _ this  _ particular day, you're grateful. The warmth of it just calms your frayed edges enough to get you to the kitchen. 

There's a steaming cup of coffee already waiting for you on the counter. Inhaling the scent before taking a sip, you look out onto your balcony and see a huddled figure sitting at the dining set you found at the thrift shop.

You slide the door open slowly so as not to startle Anya if she drifted off.

"Hey." She yawns, her jaw cracking as she shifts to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "Couldn't sleep?"

You let the corner of your mouth twitch up at her in response.

She just looks at you, not speaking - her eyes absorb the lines of your forehead, the dark bags under your eyes. "I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better, Squirt."

"I don't think I'm supposed to."

Anya nods and looks out over the cityscape again. Your apartment is small, and the view is absolute shit, but you know for a fact that your mother would have loved it.  She would have found the beauty in the flickering lights, and the music in the honking horns. She would have loved feeling so far removed from the world to be able to just watch from above and enjoy normal people doing normal things.

But, you suppose she is doing that now.

You swallow hard.

"Costia called me last night." Your voice is hoarse as you speak around the knot in your throat.

"Costia's a bitch."

You sigh. "We were together for four years."

"Worst decision you've ever made, Squirt."

"Anya, she wasn't wrong - what she said back then."

"She wasn't right, either."

"I should have been there. For Costia. For mom."

"You didn't know."

"That's the problem, isn't it? I didn't know anything. I didn't know mom was dying, I didn't know Costia was unhappy. I was so busy trying to run the fucking company, and I lost everything that mattered."

"You didn't know."

"I could have saved her, Ahn. She was scared and she was alone and she died alone waiting for me to answer."

"Lexa… that wasn't your fault."

"I should have answered."

"You worked almost eighty hours that week. No one would have answered at three a.m."

“Three thirteen. I cared more about my job than everything else. And my job isn't giving me hugs when I see them. It's not talking about how ridiculous we were growing up. It's not embarrassing you in front of a date. My job is just a  _ thing  _ and my mom is  _ gone _ ."

"You couldn't have saved her. The doctor told us that."

"I could have answered." Your voice cracks noticeably. “She wouldn't have been  _ alone _ .” You turn away from your sister.

She sighs and let's the silence stretch. "What did Costia want?"

"She said she and Niylah broke up."

"And?"

"I don't know. She asked to see me." You pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, balling it into your fists.

"And?" Her brow quirks.

You roll your eyes at your sister. "I'm not stupid."

"Good. She's a bitch who cheated on you for months and then got mad when she got caught."

The silence lingers as you drift into memories of your ex-girlfriend. "I could never make them both happy."

"You're supposed to make  _ you  _ happy, that's what Mom wanted. Costia didn't care about her  _ or  _ you."

"Mom wanted me to pursue my dreams. Costia wanted me to be rich. Now I'm just broke and alone and it  _ hurts. _ "

"Lex." Anya's tone is soft. "You still have the trust fund."

"Forget it," you say, suddenly overcome with emotions you don't want to feel. You stand abruptly and leave your sister on the balcony, unable to let her see you fall apart.

You go back to your bedroom and sit at the edge of your bed, clenching your fists against your knees in the darkness.

After a long moment, you reach under your bed and pull out the shoebox you keep, full of memories of your mom, from pictures, to her perfume, to her letters, to the obituary. You pull out the pendant she gave you the first time you came home after a particularly dramatic argument with Costia over your extended work week.  _ "It's a gearpiece from a watch. It's so small, but the watch can't run without it. If all spokes aren't cared for equally, it won't work. The time won't be consistent. You may run a company, Lexa, but you're so many other things than just a boss. You’re you. No one else can say that. You need to find someone who understands how to care for all the spokes, not just the ones they like. You need to find someone who runs perfectly alongside you." _

You clutch the pendant tightly in your hand as you try to hold onto her memory.

***

You pull into the parking lot of the dojo around six a.m. You tried your best to fall back asleep, but, you grew more and more restless as the minutes passed, until you were forced to leave before Anya tied you to the sofa.

Octavia’s hatchback is already in the parking lot by the time you arrive.

You sigh, and kick the kickstand if your bike a little harder than necessary. You know that this is going to be a rough morning if Octavia is already here.

You step inside, flicking on the lights to the main set of mats, letting your younger sister know you’re here.

Two years, and the routine hasn’t changed. 

Octavia doesn't even look your way, too busy bruising her knuckles against the heavy bag.

You put your helmet and jacket down against the wooden bench, and strip down to your shorts and sports bra. You take your time to fold your street clothes, preparing yourself mentally for the sparring session you're about to be a part of with your younger sister.

In other words, the beat down you're about to get.

Octavia is already coming at you when you step on the mat. She jabs and punches and kicks and tries her very best to hurt you, a wild fire burning hotter as she fails to land a hit. Her movements are sloppy and uncaring. You dodge them easily, praying that she will tire herself out before she does any real damage.

She fakes a jab before landing a hook, sweat flying from her limbs as she connects with your ribs, and you let out a pained grunt.

She seizes the opportunity to throw a kick at your shin, left vulnerable by your momentary grimace.

The bruising in both spots is almost instantaneous. Octavia  doesn't know how to talk about it. She's wild and angry and young, so she spends a majority of the harder mornings exhausting herself physically to make it through the day emotionally. __

And you let her. It’s why she is such a good fighter - she pushes even when it hurts.

She’s nothing like you. She’s not a coward.

A full hour into it, her foot catches your mouth and you have to spit the blood from your split lip. She immediately grabs you in a grapple when you stumble, and her shoulders shake from exhaustion and pain. You hold her tightly as tears pour down her cheeks and she teeters on the brink of hyperventilating.

"I'm sorry," you croak out against her shoulder. She shakes against you, her body slowly going limp as you hold up your baby sister. "I'm so sorry, Octavia."

After another thirty minutes of silent grieving, you and Octavia change your clothes and drive over to the graveyard.

Anya's leaned against the headstone, head tilted back as she takes a drag from her cigarette. 

"Those things will kill you," Octavia scolds. 

Anya smiles at her, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. "You sound just like her."

Octavia rolls her eyes and lets herself be held.

The three of you sit in the grass wordlessly, reminiscing and missing your mother in your own silence for a while. Anya sits to your left, and Octavia to your right. 

You pick at the grass as your mind travels to darker and darker places, thinking of the moment you ignored your mother's phone call. "I'm sorry," you croak. Anya let's her head fall to your shoulder. Octavia squeezes your hand.

The three of you drift off - exhaustion finally catching up. It's one of the most restless, yet restful sleeps you have, close, yet so far from your mother.

You're the first to stir sometime later when the sun is past its peak in the sky. The shrill tone of your ringtone wakes you in a fright.

Your phone chimes with a missed call from your father, and you feel the bile rise in your throat. Your head starts to pound and your breath gets stuck.

You call him back immediately.

"Alexandria. The board of trustees wants to have a meeting with you this evening to discuss your return."

"No." You spit. You're seething. You know he knows what day it is. 

"Alexandria. Your responsibilities are to the company."

You shout into the phone, "My responsibilities are to my family, or did you forget that?!" 

Titus hangs up. Less than a minute later, there is an email sitting in your inbox highlighting the meeting agenda.

The plastic of the phone crunches under your grip. 

Anya sighs. "Maybe he's right."

You move away so quickly that she nearly falls into the grass, still groggy from her nap. 

"Excuse me?"

She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. "Maybe it's time, Lexa."

"What the fuck, Anya?"

"It might make you feel better to get back to work."

You sneer. "You don't get to judge what will make me feel better!  _ Work _ is exactly how we all ended up here!" You stand abruptly, fingers shaking as they point to the gravestone with your mother's name written across it. " _ Work _ is what broke up my relationship!  _ Work _ is what killed mom!  _ Work _ nearly killed  _ me _ !"

"You did that all on your own," Octavia snaps, woken earlier by your outburst. "You don't get a monopoly on missing mom, Lexa! We  _ all  _ miss her!"

"She called me!"

"Because she knew you wouldn't answer!"

Your eyes sting like you've been slapped in the face.

"Don't you think it's weird that of  _ all  _ of us, she chose to call you? The workaholic?"

You blink rapidly, the heat crawling up your cheeks to the back of your eyes. "She - she - she probably assumed I'd be awake still."

"God! You're so self-righteous! She  _ knew  _ she was dying. She knew it! She's just as much as a coward as you are! She couldn't say goodbye to Anya and me. She didn't call  _ us _ ! She couldn't face us, and she knew she needed to. So she called you, the daughter that was  _ never there _ ! And you're so fucking self-absorbed that you took on the entire weight of her death to the point that you almost followed her there! Anya's always trying to save you because you can't even save your fucking self!"

The weight of the words sit heavily on your chest. The lack of air makes your head spin, and a sluggish pain makes its way from the base of your neck to your temples. Your ears feel full, the only sound you hear is the shrill ring of your phone and the uneven beat of your heart.

 You blink once. Twice.

The ringing stops, but the rhythm of your heart hasn't evened out.

Octavia's eyes widen and she reaches for you, but you take a step back, nearly falling as the ground shakes beneath you. "Lex, wait. I'm sorry. I - I - I didn't mean it."

You reopen the cut on your lip from biting so hard. 

"Lexa," Anya is so gentle when she looks at you. Her eyes plead with you to sit back down. She shifts slowly to her knees, hands up in surrender, "stay. Let's talk about this."

The first lungful of air you gulp tastes like regret. Your first step on solid ground feels like judgement.

You turn and run, ignoring the call of your younger sister. 

"Let her go cool off, O," Anya says in your retreat.

***

You rip through the trees on your bike, determined to get lost in the sensation of freedom. Of clarity. Desperately seeking a peace that evades you on this day.

The air wooshes around you; the hum of your engine enough to drown out the sound of your breaking heart.

It lasts all of five minutes. Five glorious minutes of freedom.

And then the blue and red lights flash in your rearview.

Because  _ that  _ is just the day you're having. 

The officer that approaches seems like he's at least seven feet tall, with dark aviators covering his eyes. It unnerves you, not being able to connect with his eyes, but, you suppose that is the point. "License and registration?" He asks. 

You're about to snark at him, petulant as you feel, but realize that you'd rather not end your bad day in jail. You sigh, and pull off your helmet. "It's in my glovebox," gesturing to the spot between your legs.

He nods, and you move to get it out.

"Wanna tell me why you were going so fast?" He asks while you dig around for the paperwork. He crosses his log-sized arms over his chest. 

You fumble as you grab your wallet. "I was leaving the cemetery." 

"I'm sorry," he says. His expression immediately changes, he takes off his glasses and his eyes soften into a compassion you weren't expecting.

It feels like a kick to the stomach. So, you nod, focusing back on the task of finding your license.

"Who was it?"

You sigh. "My mom." 

Your license isn't in its usual place. You pull out a few cards as he waits patiently. After another full minute of searching, you sigh again and throw your wallet back into the glovebox. "I don't have my license."

He strokes his long beard, judging the truth in your words as he stares down at you. "Alright, let me go run this. Don't move."

"Wouldn't dream of it," you grumble.

_ Where the fuck is your license? _

He goes back to his car and the threat of tears springs in the back of your eyes, because, right now, you feel  _ worthless. _

And, it makes you  _ angry. _

Your phone beeps and you quickly pull it from your pocket, still on high alert that  _ something  _ or  _ someone _ needs you. 

It's another message from your father - a follow up email from his last.

The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Your jaw clenches painfully, and in your fit of rage, you throw your phone to the cement, shattering it into pieces.

When you inhale - you feel _good_ , because it doesn't _fucking_ _matter_ if you have your phone or not.

The feeling passes by the exhale.

"Feel better?"  You're so deep in your thoughts you hardly hear the crunching gravel under his feet when the officer returns.

"No."

He nods. "Listen. You're having a bad day. I'm gonna forget this happened, but I can't let you drive without your license. I'm gonna call the tow to take your bike to impound, but I can drop you off somewhere if you'd like."

You try to scrub the memories of the day from leaking out of your eyes.

You can't go home - Anya will be waiting there for you. 

You can't go to the dojo - Octavia will be there trying to beat up her emotions.

You obviously cannot go to your family home.

Everywhere you go, someone is judging you for being  _ you. _

And then it clicks.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I know where my license is, just drop me off there."

***

During the daytime, Pure Gold looks like a completely different place. The brown bricks look worn, and the windows, you realize, are blacked out.

The place is practically empty when you enter, and you wonder if you maybe missed the sign noting they're closed.

Harper mingles about, wiping down the counter to the bar you never noticed before.

Honestly, how did you not notice all this before?

(Gravity defying tits, that's how).

She waves you over. Her hair in a high ponytail, and she props both elbows on the bartop, grinning widely at you when you settle into the stool in front of her.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Her smile is genuine, and you can't help but let your lips tick up into the smallest of smiles in return. "Beer? Whiskey? What's your pleasure, hun?"

You should just get your ID and go. You shouldn't linger, but, it's nice to be looked at like you're a decent human being. Your family surely doesn't, and you've spent countless hours on this day avoiding your mirror out of disgust. 

"Hello, Harper. I don't have my ID," you say.

She winks at you. "I know how old you are." Before you can ask if she knows if you've left it here, she slides it across the bartop.

"Now that you have it, what's your pleasure? You strike me as a whiskey girl."

You nod, a tiny smile finding its way to your lips, and she breaks out a tumbler, pouring a generous helping of the amber coloured liquid in the glass. "First rounds on me."

"Thank you," you mumble, eyes drifting away in embarrassment.

One drink turns into two, which turns into four, which turns into you trying every type of whiskey they carry.

You're not sure what number you're at when you finally get the urge to pee.

You look around, eyebrows nearly touching your hairline when you realize that there actually isn't a women's bathroom in the establishment.

"I gotta pee," you tell Harper.

She chuckles. "See the door the girls keep coming out of?"

You swing around, the room spinning slightly like a wave pushing against you. 

"Go in there."

"That's not a bathroom." You're confused. Very confused. You're sure you'd be confused even if you were sober.

"It's the locker room. We don't get enough women in here to justify using another bathroom."

Right. That makes so much sense.

You think.

You push yourself off the stool, smiling at the pretty bartender when she laughs at your drunken misstep.

Because, you are definitely,  _ definitely  _ drunk _. _

You stagger your way over to the changerooms, shoving the door open to slam against the wall.

Two sets of eyes stare at you - one amused, the other, furious, but both very _ , very  _ pretty.

"Lookey lookey," Raven says when you catch her eye. "I can't believe you're here so early. Anya has been -"

"Anya's not here," you tell her, shaking your head.

Raven eyes you curiously. "Uh - right. Are you okay?"

"I'm great!" You grin at her and wobble as a sharp pinch happens in your lower stomach. "Really gotta pee, though."

Raven chuckles and kicks open the door to a stall. She walks back to her locker and says, "Please, don't mind us."

You only now realize she's completely naked.

"She really shouldn't be here." The other girl says.

_ Jesus _ , the other girl is  _ also  _ completely naked.

"Suck my dick, Ontari." 

The Ontari girl rolls her eyes. "You're a woman, Reyes."

"So?" Raven snaps. She reaches into her locker and pulls out a  _ very  _ large purple dildo.

It's  _ huge. _

Your brain cannot process the need to have such a  _ large _ dildo in her locker.

Your brain cannot process such a  _ large  _ dildo. 

"Suck. My. Dick."

Ontari rolls her eyes and goes back to applying lotion to her skin. She bends forward at the waist to put it on her legs, and you nearly swallow your tongue when you see her shapely ass.

You are so,  _ so  _ drunk, and both women are so,  _ so  _ naked.

Raven gestures to the stall door again, not bothering to cover herself. "Please, friend, go pee."

Nodding, you stumble into the stall and quickly undo your pants, letting out a relieved sigh when your ass hits the toilet bowl.

"Lexa, I'm gonna go make a call, okay?"

"Okay!" You yell too loudly. Raven laughs again and you're left in peace while you relieve yourself.

you drag yourself back out to the club once you finish, and Raven takes your arm, guiding you over to a booth in the far back. "Wanted to give you a little privacy."

"How come you have such a big dick?" You ask.

"You know, you really are cute when you scrunch your nose like that. It's the better to dickslap you with," she answers. 

"What?" You're so utterly confused by her response.

Raven shrugs. "Let's get to the booth."

"Oh, right, thank you."

"Can I get you anything?" Raven asks. "Water, perhaps?"

"Can I get two shots of whiskey, please?"

She sighs. "Last two, alright? Then you're onto beer.  _ Light  _ beer."

"Make it four then."

Raven grumbles something you don't catch, and shrugs. 

It takes her over an hour to come back to you with the shots, accompanied by a platter of French fries and wings.

You sling them back without a flinch, setting them back on the waitress's tray before she leaves.

"Wow," Harper says. "I don't know if I should be impressed or concerned."

"Probably both." 

Her smile is soft and has hints of pity, so you blink and look away. 

You poke at the food in front of you, refusing to consume it as you know it will lessen the buzz of alcohol that is burning through you.

You need to be drunk.

You need the fuzziness around the edges of the day.

You sit, staring off into the void while you drunkenly catalogue the reasons you need this. It quickly spirals into cataloguing all the reasons you need to be drunker.

You've got no idea what time it is or how many drinks you've when blue eyes settle on you in your booth. Clarke slides in to the spot across from you with a worried look etched into her perfect features.

"Clarke?" You ask, straightening up in your seat and fighting the lolling feeling of drunkenness.

"Lexa." Her lips trace the letters of your name so delicately that you feel something warm settle in your chest.

"Hey," you say, dopey grin and chin missing your propped hand when you try to lean on it. "You're here." 

"I am. Are you alright?"

You miss her question, so focused on tracing the lines on her forehead, unable to understand how they got there. You want to smooth them out with your lips, protect her from everything that could go wrong.

You want to trace her soft skin with your fingers, kiss her perfect lips.

You want to tell her she's perfect.

She's  _ so _ perfect.

"You're perfect," you blurt out, uncaring of the way it could make you look desperate.

"Oh, boy," she chuckles, "You're  _ very _ drunk."


	6. Chapter 6 - Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long awaited!
> 
> I haven't written the next chapter yet, but I am TOO excited to get this out to you all. 
> 
> Enjoy! 
> 
> HMU at jordswriteswords on Tumblr and Instagram if you wanna chat or yell at me!

It's rare that you get an off night from the club.

Scratch that, it's rare that you  _ take  _ an off night from the club.

When you first moved to the city, you'd spend far too much time there, running from the quiet of your apartment. 

Because, in the quiet, you missed your dad.

In the quiet, you missed your mom.

In the quiet, you missed  _ him,  _ and missing  _ him  _ was just a reaction to being lonely. 

So, you spent an inordinate amount of time stripping, letting your mind and body absorb the music, and letting wandering hands ground you to the moment.

Eventually, Raven and Bellamy had had enough and banned you from coming back until you took a night off.

That's why, tonight when your phone lights up with your best friend's contact photo, you can't help but worry.

"What's wrong?"

"What makes you think something wrong?" 

You sigh. "Just spit it out."

"It's nothing  _ major…" _

Raven has never once in her life beaten around the bush.

Except yours. And that was during your au naturale phase.

_ " _ Raven."

"She's here."

Your heart sinks. "Of course she's there on my night off. I told you, the grocery store was just a fluke."

"No, uh, I mean, um, well, you should come to the club."

"It's my night off. If I may remind you, you and Bellamy have a 'no Clarke' timer in the locker room.  _ And  _ that's hella desperate for me to show up just because she's there."

"Right." Raven puts her hand over the phone and muffles whatever could be heard on the other end of the line. "You act like you don't want those pouty lips on yours. The lower ones."

You ignore her, no matter how true it may be.

"Listen, Clarke…" You can hear her moving away from the noise. "...I'm kind of talking to Anya and she's worried about Lexa and she said she doesn't know where she is and Lexa's here now and she's really,  _ very  _ drunk and I don't know what happened and I think it's probably just a good idea if you come in and hang out with her or whatever, and I know you said you'd want to meet her outside of the club, but you're technically not working today so it technically  _ is  _ outside of the club and I think she needs someone."

She sucks in a deep breath and sighs. "Phew. That was a lot… Clarke?"

You blink into the space in front of you. 

"Clarke?"

"You've been talking to Anya?"

"Of everything I've said,  _ that's  _ what you're choosing to go with? Focus, Clarkey. Your girl is a mess."

"She's not my girl," you sigh out.

Raven says something you don't catch - probably cursing you out in Spanish - "the point is, can you please come down here? Anya and Octavia aren't here, I have no idea how she got here and I have no idea how she's getting home."

"She drove?"

Raven's silence causes your heartbeat to falter. You need an answer. "Ray?" Your voice raises with the speed of your heart.

"She had a motorcycle helmet and her leather jacket. Listen, Clarke, wait, I don't think -,"

"I'm on my way," you rush out, grabbing your keys and running out the door.

You don't even think twice about your appearance this time.

***

Every single time you've seen her, she's taken your breath away. This time, however, it's because you're stressed the fuck out.

Something is definitely wrong.

She's staring blankly into space when you get there and just by the look of her, you know she is far more than just buzzed.

She calls you perfect when you greet her, and your belly swoops.

Her glassy eyes lock on yours and the swooping turns to crashing.

"Did you drive here?" You blurt out, hurried and frantic and fearful. You bite down on your tongue. 

_ Reign it in, Clarke. _

"Got dropped off." She says, hiccupping. You let out an audible sigh of relief.

She hiccups again and then her eyes lose their focus. She scrunches her brow, sucks in a deep breath and holds it to try and quell the hiccups.

It's so  _ fucking _ cute.

You slip off your jacket and get comfortable in the booth. "How long have you been here?"

She shrugs, picking at the edge of the table in front of her. She hiccups again.

You raise a brow to prompt her to be honest.

"Cop," she says suddenly, tracing a nonsensical pattern in the grain, face flushed with embarrassment.

"What?" It comes out shrill and scared. 

She smiles lazily as she looks up, satisfied with herself for something. "Don't judge me."

"I am not judging you, hun. I'm just - I'm so confused. You were arrested?" You run a hand through your hair in exasperation, because it doesn't make sense. It doesn't fit who she is.

It startles you to remember that you don't  _ really _ know her.

"You're so beautiful," she says dreamily, leaning heavily on her hand and hiccuping again.

"You're drunk."

"Yes."

You chuckle out of stress. "Okay, Lexa, what's going on?"

She takes a large sip of her beer, pushing her uneaten plate of food to the side to set the glass down in front of her. "I'm trying to get drunker."

"Okay, but why?" You stretch a hand out and rest it on her forearm to stop her from picking the beer up again.

She sighs and studies your hand on her arm. She shrugs. "Who cares?"

"I do."

Her eyes snap up to meet yours - the dark bags under her eyes evident that she's been fighting demons for a while now. "You shouldn't."

"And you shouldn't keep drinking, but you are."

"But, I am." She nods.

"Okay."

"Okay. Don't judge me." Her voice just barely cracks - more of a plea than a command.

"I'm not judging you, Lexa," you reaffirm, squeezing her arm again. 

"Everyone's always judging me." She's lost in a memory and uses her other hand to pick up the beer and finish it in one gulp, then hiccups again.

_ Oh, God _ , she's really drunk. You let your hand continue to lay heavily against her arm, a subtle weight of assurance.

"Anya judges me. Octavia judges me. Octavia  _ hates  _ me. My father  _ only _ judges me. You're judging me right now!" She snaps.

You let your eyes scan the crowded bar, noting Bellamy glaring at her outburst.

"Hey, Lexa, look at me," you say quietly, leaning across the table. When sad green eyes finally look your way, you lace your pinky together with hers. "I am  _ not  _ judging you. I won't. Ever. Okay? Pinky promise."

"Pinky…" she looks down in puzzlement, a wide grin taking over when she sees your fingers entwined. She nods, a silly smile on her face as her mood shifts with the rolling inebriation. "Pinky promise."

"Tell me what happened with Anya," you ask.

Lexa sighs, drops her head back to the cushion of the booth, but refuses to let go of your hand. She speaks up into the rafters. "She's always trying to fix me. She's always trying to clean up after me even when I don't want it. We're fighting."

"Octavia?"

She bites her lip and you notice the cut for the first time. "She hates me." She runs her teeth over it again. You think she's trying to reopen it on purpose. As a reminder.

"How so?"

Lexa doesn't answer.

Bellamy walks by, giving you an odd look. You groan internally. You know he will pepper you about this later.

"You shouldn't care about me," Lexa says suddenly, drawing you back in. Her eyes hold a steely, detached stare.

You narrow your eyes at her in response. You already know she's drunkenly decided to try to scare you away with the next statement. You need to know what she thinks is so bad. "Why not?"

She looks you right in the eye, a cold steel splintering with the weight of the pain she carries. "I'm a murderer."

You don't even flinch. The darkness under her eyes is so familiar. "What happened?"

She sighs, picking at the edge of the table again with her free hand. "Two years ago today, My mom died."

"Oh, Lexa, I am so sorry." You lace the remainder of your fingers through hers.

"It's my fault." Her voice cracks, and she shakes her head, drunk and heavy and slow.

You wish you could take this feeling from her. It's a feeling you know too well. "I don't think it is."

"What do you know?" She snaps. Her eyes well with tears that she fights back. "She called me, ya know? She called me and I didn't answer and she died and it's my fault." Her voice cracks at the end and she looks away, biting down hard on her lip. Her eyes fall to your joined hands, and she plays with the skin, looking for softness in her frailty.

You watch the girl in front of you desperate to hold herself together. She's drunk, and hurting, and you don't know how to fix it, but you know how it is to feel like you're the only one going through something so painful. You know how isolating it can be, and how  _ alone _ she feels, even if logic screams that she isn't.

"My dad died when I was sixteen. He was on his way back from getting me ice cream. I blamed myself for a really long time. Maybe if I didn't ask. Maybe if I went with him. Maybe if I had gone on my own."

She sniffs and looks at you, green eyes glassy from unshed tears. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you respond, a small smile making the corner of your lip tick up. "It wasn't my fault. And it's  _ not _ your fault, either."

"How'd you get over it?"

You wish there was a definitive answer you could give her. "It took a lot of patience, and a lot of time."

"How long?" It breaks your heart to hear the desperation in her voice.

"As long as it takes. There's no timeline on grief, Lexa."

"As long as it takes," she sighs, nodding to herself.

"One day, it won't hurt so much. You'll feel bad that it doesn't hurt so much, but it's okay. Your mom would be happy that you're moving on. Your mom wouldn't blame you. No parent wants their child stuck with their pain."

"Costia blamed me. Octavia blames me."

"I don't know who Costia is, but she is an idiot. And Octavia is a child."

"It's my fault," she repeats, lost to the drunken thought again.

"Can I call Octavia? You can tell her how you feel?"

"Can't."

"Why not."

"Broke my phone."

"Oh, you're just on a fucking roll, now aren't you, Lex?"

She nods, letting out a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't be. How about I get you some water?" You flag down Harper.

When she brings the water, Lexa pouts, but begrudgingly drinks it, missing the straw with her lips at least five times before succeeding.

"I don't want you to be alone like this," you say. It's more of a statement than a question. You're  _ not  _ leaving her alone like this.

"I'm alright. I should go home."

"Let me take you."

She furrows her brow and stares at you. 

"You got dropped off, remember?" You honestly cannot understand how she can be so adorable.

She continues to stare, weighing the pros and cons, trying to find an excuse to push you away.

You know the dance she is doing in her head. You squeeze her fingers softly. "Please."

She nods once. Because, really, she doesn't want to be alone, either.

You leave her to let Bellamy know you're leaving.

"It's in your contract."

You sigh and raise an irritated brow. "I'm not  _ at _ work."

"But, you met her  _ here _ ."

"Are we  _ really  _ doing this right now, Bell?" You can't help the way your voice raises at his sudden desire to throw your contract in your face.

He folds his arms, petulant as ever.

"Fine," you scoff, lowering your voice again so as not to cause a scene, "if you wanna fire me, then fire me. But, I'm not leaving a helplessly drunk girl to find her own fucking way home in this shitty city."

"There have been tons of drunk girls to pass through here, Clarke," he reasons.

"Yeah, well, none that I want to  _ fuck _ ."

Bellamy's eyes widen and he takes a step back.

"Yeah, I know what your problem  _ really _ is. Fire me if you want, Bell, but I'm taking her home. If I'm not here tomorrow it's probably because my vagina is too sore from getting fucked all night."

Raven slow claps as you storm away, obviously eavesdropping on your conversation.

"And by the way, we are  _ so  _ talking about you and Anya later," you snap as you walk past her.

Raven grumbles, slaps your ass and relents. Before she gets too far, she turns back and gives you a thumbs up, a shit eating grin on her face.

"You have a fantastic ass," Lexa comments offhandedly when you return, sliding into the booth across from her.

You laugh, the tension evaporating at the sight of the brunette and the knowledge that she was watching you. "Thank you."

She smiles dreamily. "It would look so good on my face. I'm so jealous Raven touched it."

A sharp pang of want pinches in your belly, and your laugh turns to a choking cough. "You're  _ so  _ drunk, Lexa." 

"S'all true, though." 

"Are you hungry?" You blurt out, immediately regretting the question when her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. "Not for  _ that _ , you goober." 

She deflates and pouts as she leans against the backing of the booth.

"Food? I'm in clothes," you gesture to your hoodie and leggings. They, at least, are both a dark grey. You could pass as presentable in a Walmart.

"You're beautiful."

"Yes," you laugh, "we've established that. What about food?"

"Like a date?" Her eyes brighten at the thought.

So. Fucking. Cute.

You chuckle. "Food. You. Me. Yeah, I guess it's a date."

She immediately excites at the idea. She tries to smooth out the creases on her shirt as she sits there, pouting at the random stains she becomes fixated on. "I'll be right back," she says, still messing with the stain on her shirt.

She stumbles out of the booth and heads straight for the locker room. She shoves the door open and you cringe, imagining the fright that the girls inside received at seeing her. 

You check your appearance in your phone, mussing your hair and smoothing your eyebrows.

_ You're such a loser _ , you think as you suck in your cheeks to appear slimmer. You take a steadying breath as you fight the sudden wave of insecurity that threatens to take over, closing your eyes, hoping that when you open them you won't look so haggard.

You hear her before you feel her.  "I want to kiss you." She presses against your side, sliding into your booth and whispering the words against your ear.

Your stomach swoops violently. But, she's drunk, and you know for a fact that if she wouldn't kiss you the past two times you had the chance to, she  _ shouldn't _ kiss you now.

Your vagina screams at you in dissent.

"I know," you say softly, turning your head to fall prey to the green orbs.

"M'gonna kiss you." She doesn't move, just staring at your lips intently.

You realize, of course, that she's waiting for your permission, and the urge to kiss her because she's so fucking  _ charming _ is so overwhelming that you have to avert your eyes to the loose strand of hair that has fallen into her face. You tuck it behind her ear.  "What about that date, first, Lex? You said we should go on a date."

"You wanna date me?" She sits back in surprise, eyes wide and childlike.

You laugh at the fact that she's already forgotten. "I wanna get food with you, yes," you know you're patronizing her, but she is far too drunk to notice. "You can kiss me after."

The giddy "Okay," is enough to make your heart melt.

She wears a dopey grin as she rises from her seat, and an even bigger one when you clutch onto her hand to stop her from walking into the back of a few chairs. The alcohol has settled in her legs and she stumbles around like a baby calf.

You manage to get her into the front seat of your sedan and buckle her in. 

"You okay?" You tuck that loose strand behind her ear.

"Thank you," she says, serious enough that you wonder if she's sober.

You feel a warm surge of affection. "Let's get you some food."

***

You don't bother to sit across from her in the booth at the diner. You squish right in to the same side, returning the happy smile she gives you when she feels the press of your arm against hers.

You held her hand the entire way over here, and for the split second that you parted for her to take a seat, you felt clingy and needy and all the ooey-gooey things that you want to indulge in now.

So, you hold her up against you, your shoulder supporting her while she zones in and out of thought and rambles about any and everything that comes to mind.

Lexa, unsubtly (you're sure she thinks she was subtle) slides her hand down her leg underneath the table, nudging your pinky with her own. You lock yours with hers, and she lets out a contented hum. When the waiter comes to take your order, you nearly split your face with your beaming smile.

It feels like a  _ real _ date.

You feel like you're seventeen.

It takes her far too long to order, but she settles on a burger with extra ketchup. It gets all over her face when she bites into it, and you giggle, take a picture of her with her red beard made of sauce, and delicately wipe it off her face. That strand of hair falls into her eyes again, so you tuck it behind her ear and cup her face gently just because you can.

While you're working away at your fries, she says,  "Tell me about your dad," sounding much too sober.

You pick up a french fry and examine it like you're  looking for the key to your past. "He was my best friend." You drop the fry, wiping your fingers on a napkin and turn to look at her. "He loved me no matter what I did, and he made sure I knew that." 

You laugh as a memory floods your brain. "He caught me with my first girlfriend. I wasn't sure who shrieked louder out of the three of us. Instead of lecturing me or freaking out, he took my mom out for dinner as soon as she got home so that I could… finish what I started." Your smile turns sad. "He was great."

"He sounds great."

You nod, picking up the fry from earlier and twirling it between your fingers. "I like to cook when I miss him. It reminds me that there are things that are universally joyous."

"My mom gave me my first camera. Back when film was like… not digital." She scrunches her face as the word escapes her. She shakes her head and continues, "I didn't realize she'd have to develop them. I had pictures of girlfriends on them. I was kissing them."

You let out a bark of a laugh. "That's one way to come out."

Lexa stares at you, your laughter dying down while she studies you. "I wish I had my camera."

"Why?" You ask, head leaning on your propped elbow on the back of the booth cushion, with a content smile for your date. 

"My mom said life is beautiful. Your laugh - your smile - this is the first time I actually thought so in the last two years."

Your stomach feels like a thousand butterflies have hatched from their cocoons, taking their first flight. Your cheeks burn at the compliment and you're forced to look away.

She is so,  _ so  _ charming. 

"What do you like to take pictures of?"

"Moments. Emotion. Beauty." She lets out a sleepy yawn, ending the conversation as the drunkenness and full belly settle. 

"Can I take you home?" You ask.

She nods, too drunk and too sleepy to argue. 

When you finally get inside her apartment - after her four failed attempts to unlock the door and four absolute refusals of your help - she hesitates at the door to her bedroom.

"I don't - I don't want to go in there."

You know why she doesn't. Her room is dark and a place where she is alone.

She's scared to be alone.

She sinks to the ground in front of her door, her back pressed up against the wall. "I'm such a fucking loser." She whines.

You slide down the wall next to her, letting your shoulders touch. "You're not. You are… so many things, Lexa Woods, but a loser is not one of them. My favourite thing about you is that you're  _ you _ ," you say, throwing her own words back at her.

She looks at you with parted lips, her eyes dancing between your eyes and your lips, and you'd lean in and kiss her if she wasn't drunk.

She pulls her knees into her chest, resting the side of her head on top so she can keep looking at you. "You don't have to leave." It comes out so softly, you think she'd break if she asked it any louder.

This is the closest she'll get to asking you to stay.

"Come here." You open your arms and pull her into your shoulder. She shifts until she is comfortable, her nose pressing against your neck and she lets out a choked sigh. 

"I'll be here when you wake up," you whisper.

***

The world comes back to you slowly.

Consciousness evades you, until you hear the annoyed grunt of the girl in your lap. You crack your eyes open, wary of the bright light, and watch as chestnut locks splay out over your lap.

You bend your neck from left to right, testing the stiffness. 

It's not too bad.

You clench one ass cheek and then another.

Bad. Definitely numb.

Lexa sighs uncomfortably and rolls to her side. Her hair falls into her face, and the slow breaths puff the wisps of hair into the air. Her face looks soft, peaceful, the complete opposite of the pain she was feeling last night.

You think a numb ass is worth it to see her like this.

She smacks her lips together and scrunches her nose at the unpleasant taste in her mouth, childlike and cute.

She cracks one eye open only to immediately shut them again and cover her face. She slams her hands down on her face too quickly though, a loud  _ slap _ sounding, followed by another groan. She pouts and turns her face into your leg to  hide from the wretched daylight.

You chuckle, trying your best to stifle the sound, and limit the shaking of your shoulders.

She finally settles when she turns all the way over, burying her face into the crease of your thigh and stomach - basically breathing on your crotch.

It's another ten or so minutes before she stirs again. It's a grumble at first, followed by the furrowing of brows and the elongated pout from being roused from her slumber. She stretches out her back, mewling like a cat when she reaches full extension. 

She buries her face into your crotch, trying to find the last moments of sleep before they evaporate in the sunlight.

Her hands come up and squeeze the muscle of your thigh, and you watch as her confusion plays out against her face. Her other hand reaches back and feels for a blanket you know she won't find. She furrows her brow, then turns just enough to open one eye. 

"What the -oh my God!" She startles herself when she sees you and nearly jumps out of her skin. She sits up quickly, hand immediately going to her forehead as the world spins underneath her.

She falls back against the wall and your hands spring to her shoulders to stop her from falling over. "Whoa, hey, Lexa."

She clenches her eyes and you rub up and down her arms. "You're okay," you repeat over and over again.

"What is going on?" She asks. Her voice is raspy from disuse, and she makes a face at the taste of her own tongue.

"How much do you remember?"

She is quiet for a long time, slowly pulling her hands down from her eyes to let them connect with yours.

"Not enough," and  _ fuck _ if you aren't charmed by that answer.

_ Smooth motherfucker. _

Her cheeks burst into flames. "What did I do?"

"Charm me, as always," you say with a cheeky grin. You can feel the panic radiating from her as the fuzzy pieces of her memory try to come together. You start to feel more insecure as she stews in silence, refusing to look at you. "Maybe I should g-,"

"Coffee?" She blurts out before you finish. "Stay for coffee?" 

"God, yes."

She stands quickly, only to sit back down beside you and grab the sides of her head as her head swims with alcohol. You reach forward and tuck that stubborn strand back behind her ear and send her a soft smile. She stands up again, slower, this time, and walks into the kitchen.

You let your eyes wander the living room. The walls are a neutral grey, with dark mahogany shelves floating freely across the walls. A few family pictures join them, along with a few candles scattered throughout. She has a large flat screen hung from one wall, a dark grey chaise couch in the middle, and a matching armchair to the side.

It's all so…. Put together.

Then you start to notice the random bits and pieces that make her who she is.

The trinkets from Octavia. 

A random duffel bag in the corner. 

Purple boxing wraps. 

Three cameras on different shelves. 

Negatives tacked to the wall. 

Silly pictures of her and her sisters. 

A picture of her on her motorcycle with a young Octavia.

A picture of her hugging who you assume to be her mother.

The tiara from her birthday.

It's all so… _fucking_ _charming_.

"You live alone?" You ask.

She peeks her head over the starkly contrasting white island, glass half full of water in her hands while she looks at you looking at the pictures. "Yes."

"Have you always?"

She doesn't respond. You walk into the kitchen, watching her methodically fill the coffee maker with ground beans.

"Hmm," you grumble.

"Hmm?" She asks, cocking a single brow. She still won't look at you straight on, letting her sideways glances be the only flicker of green you can see. 

"It  _ looks _ like you in this place."

"How so?"

"It's charming."

She scoffs. 

"It's clean. Strong lines. Contrasting pieces." You grab the jar of spices from the counter, the 'happy birthday Lexa' scrawled across it. 

"It can be cold at a glance, but it's not, actually." You turn and look back at her, catching her watch you before she looks back down. "It looks like you."

You step closer to her, a sudden urge of want taking you over. She's sober and you're here and this is what you've both been waiting for. 

The coffee machine beeps. "Coffee?" She croaks, forcing her eyes away from your lips.

You blink, pulling yourself from the haze of her, and take a seat at the other side of the counter. 

You need the distance from her for clarity.

"Cream, sugar?"

"Both."

She nods and spends an inordinate amount of time stirring the coffee. 

You sigh. She's panicking, and you feel dirty. Maybe she really doesn't want you here. "Lexa -"

"Did I do something?"

"What?" That startles you.

She paces the kitchen. "What happened?"

"You came to the club. You got drunk. We went out to eat and I brought you home."

"What did I say?"

"Nothing."

She scoffs.

Exasperated, you bite, "Why are you being like this? Where I'm from, we say 'thank you' when someone spends the night making sure we're okay."

"It's - I -," she deflates. "Thank you, Clarke."

You shrug. "I get it. This is - it's hard for you. I'm glad you came to see me. But, as always, you were  _ charming,  _ even if you were a little drunk."

Her eyes shimmer. "Thank you so much." 

You stand, foregoing your coffee and feeling the confidence come back. 

You walk right up to her in the kitchen. You push her gently back against the fridge with your index finger, happy when she doesn't resist. "Lexa?"

Her eyes scan yours, a deep, lost, green shimmering back at you. "Clarke."

The shiver that runs through you when she says your name should be embarrassing. "Go brush your teeth."

"What?"

Your heart pounds erratically, a nervous beat you can only attribute to her. "Go brush your teeth. I want to kiss you, but you smell like old whiskey."

Her eyes are wide, and she swallows loud enough for you to hear it.

You change your plan. 

You don't just want to kiss her.

You want to  _ date  _ her.

"Go shower while you're at it. I'll prepare breakfast."

"You don't have to do that."

"And yet," you move to her left, happy to distance yourself from her as body is trembles with anxiety from the thought of putting yourself out there and admitting (for the third time) you want to kiss her. You open the right side of the fridge, "I'm already snooping in your fridge."

You pretend you don't notice when she leans against the unopened side, watching you tap your chin as you look inside. A full minute passes and she still hasn't moved, so you're forced to look her way. Her folded arms and lazy smile make your heart swell. 

"Shoo," you say gesturing for her to leave you be.

Your cheeks erupt and you stomach flutters at the sight of her retreating form.

You definitely think you want more than to just kiss her.

***

"You should have become a chef," she says, shovelling another forkful of egg in her mouth. "These are delicious."

"I'm good at everything," you say, pointing your fork, filled with egg, at her before turning it and popping it into your mouth with a flourish.

"Seriously, though."

You hide your smile behind a sip of coffee.  "Too many hours and not enough money," you say.

"Who taught you to make these?"

"My dad."

Lexa wipes her mouth and places her fork down on her plate. "He was a great teacher."

"I loved to spend time with him. He loved breakfast. It was a lot of early mornings. Ironic that I work the night now."

"But, now you have the mornings to enjoy the things he taught you. Imagine being inside all day  _ working. _ "

"How do you do that?" You ask.

"What?" 

"Make what I do seem so  _ normal." _

She stares you down, her face serious as ever. "It  _ is  _ normal, Clarke."

"My mom would disagree with you."

She scoffs. "Why?"

You roll your eyes. "First of all, I'm a sex worker, and I don't need to lay out the problems with that. Everyone wants to go to strip clubs, but when someone you know wants to do it, it's suddenly a problem. Anyway, she wanted me to follow in her footsteps. Become a doctor like the rest of her family." 

"My mom wouldn't. She probably would have helped you pick out your work attire. She absolutely hated that I followed in Titus' footsteps. She hated that I saw people like dollar signs. She hated that I didn't care about the beauty that is a person."

"Is that why you take pictures of people now? Try to capture their beauty."

She blushes and shrugs. "Some beauty can't be captured. But, I try."

_ Smooth motherfucker.  _ You can feel your cheeks burning at her lingering gaze. "Tell me about your family."

Lexa chews another mouthful of food before answering. "Anya and Octavia are my sisters. Anya is overprotective. Octavia is wild and young."

"And you're the stable middle child."

She laughs. "Yeah. Stable and stupid."

"Octavia is like… really young." You let the statement linger, the question in the open.

"Yeah," she says. 

"The three of you all look very different." You're not sure what is the right way to ask, so you lead Lexa there and let her decide if she wants to answer.

"Octavia was born from love."

"Meaning?"

"She's my half sister."

"And Anya?"

"Also from love. Also my half sister. My mom had Anya young."

"You weren't from love?" You ask. 

She clenches her jaw. "They had an arrangement, her and Titus. He needed and heir, he didn't care about anything else. He gave her half of the company to give to me, but she had to stay. My mom was able to give a stable home to her first daughter, and she loved me into existence. She did her best to love me just as much."

"Huh."

She sighs. "I'm supposed to take over the company."

"But you don't want to?"

"I did. He is my  _ father _ , I wanted to be just like him. I  _ was _ just like him. I would work from sun up to sun down. My mother hated it. She'd force me to come home and spend time with Octavia. She'd come up with reasons for me to leave work. She cancelled board meetings just so I would leave on time. I couldn't say no, since what was to be my half of the company was in her name." She laughs. "She loved us so much, she did whatever it took for us to be together, even withholding the one thing Titus wanted her to stay for."

You nudge her shoulder with yours. "She still loves you."

"She divided her half of the company between the three of us - me, Octavia, Anya before she died. Titus doesn't want to give up his half."

You wait for her to finish.

"And then my mother died. She died and I didn't remember what was the point of working all those hours when I missed out on being there for her. For my family. I needed clarity. I looked in the mirror one day and saw an empty, lonely person. I… left work, and went home early that day. Was going to propose to my girlfriend and ask her to move away with me, but, I walked in on her and another woman instead."

"Oh, God, Lexa," you let the words tumble out of your mouth, your fork falling to the table.

She laughs. "I've been off work since, trying to find myself again. But, Anya thinks I should go back."

"Is that what happened with Octavia and Anya? You said there was a fight."

She sighs, rubs the rim of her coffee mug with her thumb and bites her lip before taking a sip.

"Did Octavia do that?" You lean over the counter and let your thumb run along her bottom lip. 

She nods. "Sparring. She lost her mom, too. She's angry mom didn't call her or come to her. She was asleep down the hall when it happened."

"She blames you because she was there and you weren't and your mom chose you." You deduce.

"Yeah. She called me a coward. She called Mom a coward."

You flinch. "Harsh."

"True, though. I was scared to face the fact that I had turned into him. She was scared to admit she knew she was dying. And when she died, I kind of just… worked myself until I had to be hospitalized from a break down, because I didn't want to face life. I used work as a means to an end." She laughs bitterly. "Literally."

You sigh.

"I don't know if I even want to be a part of the company anymore. It's never been healthy for me."

"I don't blame you." 

"Sorry," Lexa laughs suddenly. "It's a tad too early for all this heaviness. I'm so bad at this."

"Would it be easier if I was naked?" You joke. "You always know how to charm me with my pants already off."

Lexa nearly chokes on her last sip of coffee. "Can I take your plate?"

You laugh along with her. "I'll just blame your hangover. And yes, please, I'm stuffed."

You follow her to the kitchen with the empty mugs of coffee, the nerves in your stomach firing rapidly.

Because, breakfast is over now.

And you  _ still _ want to kiss her, very much.

She rinses everything, placing it in the dishwasher and thanks you every single time you hand her a dish, because, she is so. Fucking. Charming.

She straightens, wiping her hands on the dish towel and then sticking them in her pockets while her cheeks flush. She's clearly realized there's nothing left to do.

"So," you say, leaning against the fridge. 

"So…" she responds, leaning back against the counter. The air grows heavy as you look at one another.

Your stomach is doing flips like a professional gymnast.

"Cla-,"

-  your phone chirps. 

Lexa clears her throat and averts her eyes, and you quickly look at your phone when it chirps again and again and again.

You have a missed call from Bellamy and four messages from Raven.

"I guess I should be going," you sigh. 

Lexa nods, eyes still downcast. 

"Thank you for breakfast," you add.

She looks up and gives you a soft smile. "Thank you for everything," She opens her mouth to say something more, but she clenches her jaw shut when no words come out.

She won't make the first move and you know it. She's too respectful, and  _ you  _ told  _ her  _ that you couldn't date her.

You chew your lip and take a step towards her. She straightens. "Thank you for the date, Lexa," you rasp out. Your heart pounds in your chest as you move closer.

"Date?" She questions. There is beauty in her smile as it peeks out from the corners of her lips. 

"Two, technically. You're well overdue for that kiss."

That stubborn strand of hair falls in front of her eyes, and you can't help yourself when you reach forward, whispering her name while you tuck it behind her ear. Your heart beats wildly, and your skin tingles until it burns where the heat of her body just barely touches yours. Your thumbs trace the cut on her bottom lip, and down over her chin. You settle with your hand just on her chest, and step into her space completely, pressing yourself against her while she leans against the counter.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

The first time she kisses you, it is so,  _ so _ soft. Baby blues and greens consume your vision as her trembling breath caresses your lips. She wraps one hand around the wrist on her chest, while the other cups your face just as softly as her lips press against yours. She pushes into you instead of pulling you into her, and the relinquishment of power is so small, yet so,  _ so  _ significant.

It's so  _ Lexa _ .

You smile into the kiss, contented and warm and full. She smiles back and lets out a tiny, nervous chuckle. You rest your forehead on hers, sharing breaths in the tiny cocoon you've both created.

The second kiss is nothing like the first.  It has her nipping at your bottom lip, her tongue peeking out to ask for entrance past your lips.

It's hot, and strong, and sends a white hot flash right to your core. Your hand on her chest grips the plain white T-shirt she's wearing, clutching at her to get closer, closer,  _ closer. _

You part your lips and whimper when she licks into your mouth, because,  _ fuck  _ is she good at that. 

She switches the two of you so that you're now against the counter, her body pressed against yours as she takes control of the kiss. Her thumbs trace your hips, playing with the edge of your sweatpants. 

Your mind whirls, your thighs clench, and  _ oh, God, her hands feel great. _

You nudge her legs apart, your hands fall down to her ass, pulling her into you - closer. Her thigh falls right where you need it, and she presses her strong quad into you as your hips search for friction.

" _ Fuck,"  _ you whimper, grateful that she is so attuned to you. She nudges your cheek with her nose, letting her lips trace down your neck while you gasp for breath.

It's too much, it's  _ too _ good, it's  _ too _ -

Your entire body flushes with heat and you're not ashamed to admit you're so incredibly turned on.

You bite down on her shoulder when she hits  _ that _ spot. She grunts, shifts her hands under your ass, and lifts you in one fell swoop up onto the counter.

_ Dear God _ , she's strong.

She's got her hands pulling at the hem of your shirt when there's a knock at the door. She ignores it, her mouth too busy trailing kisses all down the column of your throat.

There's another knock, and you wonder if it would be alright to scream for them to go away. 

But, you the knocking sounds again. "Should you - oh  _ fuck - _ " 

The knock grows more persistent. "Lexa!" Octavia shouts from the other side of the door.

Lexa freezes for half a second before shaking her head, too content to have her lips against your pulsepoint.

Your hips start undulating against nothing.

"Lexa! I know you're in there! I'm coming in!" The sound of the lock jangles, Lexa groans unhappily, and a cold wave of  _ what the fuck _ washes over you.

"Lex, come on!" Octavia storms into the apartment and Lexa pulls away from you just before Octavia rounds the corner.

You are not nearly as fast, toppling forward into Lexa's chest. She wraps her arms around you in such a delicate way that you're hard-pressed to let go and acknowledge her sister.

"Phoenix?"

Lexa groans, her head falling to your shoulder.

You blush, and try to hide in her hair.

You forgot you know them as their stripper.

"This is too good," Octavia laughs. 

Lexa pulls away slowly, hands against your hips for as long as possible before she inevitably turns to acknowledge her sister. You jump down off the counter, surprised by the fact that your legs can hold you with how weak they feel, and adjust your sweater. "I should probably go."

"No, wait, please," Lexa begs. She moves to grab your wrist, but stops suddenly, hand hovering awkwardly in the air. "Please," she pleads, her hand dropping to the side.

You lean over and kiss her as softly as the first time. Your heart races at the simplicity of it all. "Talk to your sister."

She deflates against the counter, thinking your moment was a mistake. Your stomach flutters, happy to know she wants more, too. So, you tilt Lexa's chin to the fridge.

There on her tiny whiteboard - in green dry-erase marker - is a spaceship, stars, and a stick figure hovering above the ground thanks to it's gravity defying tits.

Oh, and your phone number, with 'Clarke xxx' underneath.

You kiss her again, just because you can, then take your leave, heart hammering and face hurting from the smile you can't control.


	7. Chapter 7 - Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Long weekend, my lady's birthday festivities, vacation, so many things. Oh, and my dog needed emergency surgery so I've been high-key stressed about that! He's fine, just sore and sucky. He's honestly the vet's worst nightmare so I'm dreading taking him back to get his stitches removed *stress emoji where you at?*
> 
> Anyway! I promised within the week so here it is!
> 
> Enjoy the angst!
> 
> HMU @jordswriteswords on Tumblr and Instagram!!

It's inevitable, the way your eyes follow the blonde as she gathers her jacket and heads to the door; the way her fingers delicately maneuver the strings of her laces; the way a lock of her hair, messy from both sleep and your hands, is just  _ too  _ short for her to tuck behind her ear; the path her fingers take around her lobe as she fruitlessly tries to tuck the lock of hair anyway; the way she breathes in deeply before standing, as though she needs to gather her strength to leave. 

Your body moves to her of its own volition. You wouldn't be able to stay in the kitchen with her being so near. You need to be closer, closer,  _ closer _ .

She's so. Fucking. Beautiful.

"I'll call you," you breathe out before she looks your way; before she's able to steal your breath with just a glance.

Her smile is soft and, you think, a little relieved. "I know. I'll be waiting." She loses the battle with the lock of hair again, and chuckles nervously as you move even closer.

She's always so confident, it makes your heart hammer in your chest to see her be timid.

She shifts to her left foot, fingers of her left hand tapping nervously on her right. Her eyes shift between yours and you feel the air crackle with anticipation between you. You can't help but follow the bobbing of her throat as she swallows.

You reach forward slowly, hand hovering over her own as she continues to tap nervously. Her eyes follow, she lifts the corner of her lips, turning her hand over and interlocking your fingers with her own. "I'll call you," you repeat, much more softly; much less rushed; much more sincere.

"I know," she repeats just as softly. She squeezes your hand softly. "Be honest with her," she says. "It'll be fine," she says. "Call me later." She squeezes your fingers again. Your heart rate picks up at the impending conversation you're to have with your sister, and Clarke's eyes shift to the hard beating of your pulse in your neck. She lets go of your fingers to cup your neck, her thumb tracing over the staccato rhythm until it slows to the pace that her thumb moves. You feel a warmth in your belly at the contact.

"You literally  _ just  _ said bye two seconds ago! You're like horny teenagers!" Octavia scoffs and makes it pointedly obvious that she is watching you from the kitchen.

Clarke chuckles, but doesn't move. You nod once, and she leans towards you. Her eyes close as she presses the most delicate kiss to your swollen lips; soft, quiet, intimate. It makes your stomach swoop like a rollercoaster.

When she pulls away, you struggle to let go, cupping the back of her hand on your neck with your own. She inches away slowly, reluctant to let go of your fingers, until your arms are outstretched as she backs up to your doorway. You feel like a fool, but the way her smile brightens and she giggles at the absurdity of the extended goodbye, you feel like you're full to the brim with helium, floating away with excitement and pure and utter joy.

Your hand settles in the grain of the wood after it closes, breathing in the remnants of her perfume that lingers in her wake.

You are so, utterly, hopeless. You can't stop the smile that hurts your cheeks.

Octavia huffs again, and it's like a needle has been poked into your side, the joy and the happiness seeping out of you as you crash back down to reality with no control whatsoever. 

Your back stiffens, you swallow once, and turn to face your baby sister.

"Kay, so I'm going to need an explanation," Octavia immediately asks when you enter the kitchen. She jumps up onto your counter and swings her legs freely, knocking against the cabinet doors underneath with her dirty black running shoes. 

You try to gather your thoughts as you focus on the rip in her jeans as her legs move monotonously, but your thoughts are a jumbled mess of pain; and blonde hair; and drunken confessions; and soft lips; and inadequacy; and gentle touches.

You don't know where to begin.

Octavia pulls at the hem of her red sweater. The dojo motto of, "get knocked down, get back up," scrawled across the chest in white writing.

You definitely feel like you were knocked down yesterday, and you know it's time for you to get back up.

The look Octavia gives you when you finally catch her eye is accusatory and completely unwarranted. It sets fire to the fuse of your slow crawling headache.

You sigh. You don't  _ want  _ to fight with your sister, but as passionate and curious and innocent as Octavia can be, she also has the stubborn will of you and Anya, and a temper that only can be found in a rebellious teen. 

You rest your hip against the opposite counter, folding your arms over your chest. "I don't owe you one, O."

She scoffs. "Umm, yeah, you do. You're my sister."

You roll your eyes at her logic. You want to be open; you want to be honest, but you're hungover and defensive and still coming off the high of Clarke's lips, so you turn away from her, feigning to look inside your cupboards as though you haven't already consumed breakfast. You just need something to do with your hands - need to look busy so that she can't see your blushing cheeks when you think about Clarke. "I'm also significantly older than you and not about to talk to you about my personal life."

"She's a stripper. She literally rubbed her crotch all over me. There's nothing personal about it."

Your spine snaps to your full height from the loud contempt in her voice. Your hands clench around a can of black beans. "She," you growl, turning slowly to glare at your younger sister, "is a person."

"Who, might I add, I have touched more intimately than you, therefore, it's not really a  _ personal _ thing."

"Don't you dare dehumanize her." You honest to God wonder if your fingers have left an imprint in the can from how tightly you're squeezing it. 

You  _ know  _ Octavia doesn't mean it. You  _ know  _ she's just hurting and looking to hurt you, too. But, you will not let her speak that way of someone who isn't there to defend themselves and who doesn't deserve it anyway.

Octavia shrugs haughtily. "You probably don't even know her name. Does that matter? Like men don't care if they fuck someone who they can't remember the name of - and just figured that you of  _ all  _ people would at  _ least  _ get the stripper's real name, unless you think it's  _ actually  _ Phoenix, in which we'd need to have a talk because even  _ I _ know it's not real."

"Octavia!" You slam the beans down on the counter, a loud crack of metal meeting granite a startling sound. Your blood boils, but just the thought of you blonde has your heart slowing down. "Clarke."

Octavia stops,  _ finally,  _ and furrows her brow. "The author?"

You roll your eyes, doing your best to temper the desire to throttle your sister. "Her name is Clarke."

"That's…" Octavia trails off, rolling her head from one side to the other as she ponders the validity of Clarke's name, "I mean, who would make that up? Then again, she  _ does  _ have a fake one."

Annoyance bubbles over, spilling out from your collar and heating your cheeks until they flush. "Holy fuck, Octavia, what do you  _ want _ , other than to just bother me?" You snap, your patience coming to a halting end. 

You don't understand why she is being so aggressive toward the blonde.

Octavia stops swinging her feet and shrugs. "Where were you yesterday? I tried to call you like fifteen times. You  _ always _ answer." She spits the last sentence like a tidal wave of freezing cold water. 

"I wasn't here."

"Obviously," she mutters with attitude. "I didn't even know you were here  _ today _ . Your bike wasn't in your spot and you weren't answering your fucking phone, and I was  _ actually _ worried so I just barged in. If I knew you were  _ busy _ I would have come back later."

You sigh. "Believe it or not, I wasn't going to have sex with her."

"Because she's a stripper?"

You wonder what has come over her that she feels necessary to constantly attack Clarke. " _ Because,  _ that was the first time we hung out."

"Oh my God, you went on a date? On Mom's anniversary?" 

There it is. There is the real reason why she is so bothered by Clarke's presence. She thinks you don't care about your mother.

You watch as the rage builds under her collar. "While Anya and I were worried sick about you, you were getting it on with a fucking stripper?!"

"Her  _ name _ is Clarke, and if you want to continue sitting in my apartment right now, you'll use her name and watch yourself." You don't realize until you finish that you're standing in the middle of your kitchen, creeping closer and closer to your sister as your voice raises.

Your tired of defending your motives to your own sister. You're tired of defending your choices. You're tired of needlessly defending Clarke. You're tired of Octavia's attitude.

The frustration snaps you back to reality.

Octavia swallows and takes a few breaths, slumping back down as you approach.

You startle yourself, blinking rapidly and turning aboutface. You sit on the counter by the sink, keeping Octavia on your right side and the fridge on your left - where you can see the whiteboard with Clarke's phone number. You use it as a grounding point, reciting the numbers in your head as you fall back against the cupboards above.  

"I wanted - we need to talk," Octavia says quietly, the wind leaving her sails like the storm passing through her as quickly as it developed.

You sigh again, preparing for round two of this fight. "Alright."

"I'm sorry. I was really angry yesterday. What I said was shitty."

You nod. "Yes, it was." Your eyes linger on the drawing as snippets of your conversations with Clarke flash before your eyes, covered with a hazy drunken glow.

"Yeah, that's why I wanted to apolo-"

"Did you mean it?" You cut her off, head rolling to let you look directly at her disdainfully. You don't want apologies. You want honesty. You want to break it all open so you can begin to repair your relationship properly. 

She hesitates, her eyes dancing between yours as her mouth hangs open. Tears well in her eyes.

Your head rolls back to staring straight ahead, not at Octavia, not at the fridge. You can't look at your sister as you focus on remembering to breathe. It feels like a thousand shards of ice sliding down your throat and you need to keep it inside.

"I -"

You hear the soft click of your front door as it unlocks and the thunking of Anya's heavy boots enter your apartment. She rounds the corner and takes in the scene - you, with stiff shoulders, eyes unfocused; Octavia looking like a child caught in the act. "Did we come at a bad time?" Your older sister asks. 

"We?" You question, voice thick.

Indra tentatively rounds the corner, and the shards of ice stab your lungs. You're left breathless and embarrassed.

Octavia's face turns a ghastly white as the closest thing to your mother walks in.

Perfect.

You laugh deprecatingly. "Nope." You pop the 'p' and choke back the tears that threaten to spill. "You're just in time."

Indra looks between you two, and sets her maroon purse down on the counter near Octavia. She situates herself in the corner between you both, pulling at the hem of her black tunic to resituate it after removing her jacket, then runs her hands over the front of her dark jeans. Anya leans her shoulder heavily against the refrigerator, her body turned to face you both with her arms crossed. She hasn't bothered to take off her dark green jacket, the fabric hanging loosely over her faded white tee and grey leggings.

You turn back to your younger sister, your voice trembling when you ask, "O? Did you mean it? What you said yesterday?"

Her eyes flit to your older sister and Indra, uncomfortable and desperate. "I - I - I didn't mean the way it came out."

You furrow your brows and press your head roughly into the cabinets. You use the pressure to keep you from falling apart. "But, did you mean what you  _ said _ ? That I'm selfish? Self absorbed?"

She doesn't answer, the tears spilling from her eyes in rivers of guilt.

You nod and let your shoulders fall along with your heart. The hollowness in your stomach sends your heart crashing to the floor, shattering into pieces. 

You hop off the counter and brush past your older sister. Your lungs ache from the cold that settles in them. Anya doesn't try to stop you.

"Where are you going?" Octavia asks irritatedly.

You could tell her how much it hurts to know she thinks so little of you. You could tell her that all you've ever wanted was to make your mother proud - make  _ her  _ proud. But the ice freezes your throat, slides down into your chest and fills the cavity where your heart was. The words get stuck in your throat. "I'm hungover. And I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed," you say.

And, of course, your white flag comes off as aloof. 

Octavia shouts, "Right, yeah, run away. It's what you're so good at." Her temper flares with the hurt and embarrassment of you walking away from her. She flounders - trying to hold her ground and trying to fix your relationship, but not sure which one is more important.

"Octavia, come on," Anya huffs, the patience of your older sister wearing thin.

Indra puts her hand on Octavia's knee, trying to comfort your younger sister as you continue to move, slow like molasses with your limbs weighing you down, to your bedroom. 

Everything falls apart after that. 

Octavia's anger wins out.

"No, this is bullshit! You ran away from us! You ran away from  _ mom _ ! And all she ever tried to do was force you to come home and you didn't want to be there! And when she was dying, she didn't call  _ me _ and I was  _ right there _ ."

"O, stop!" Anya yells.

Your resolve snaps. You turn, eyes burning with tears or anger, you're not sure, and you march right back into the kitchen, teeth and fists clenched. "Because you're a  _ child!"  _ You spit. You can see the spittle as it lands on your sister's face. You don't care. "I get that you're upset about this, Octavia, but you're  _ just  _ a child."

"I'm  _ her  _ child!"

"So am I!" You yell in her face. "You so desperately want me to be the enemy - be the one to blame for her death. I'm her fucking  _ child _ , Octavia. I'm not a fucking robot."

"Then act like it!"

You let out an annoyed laugh, throwing your hands up in the air and pacing the kitchen in front of Octavia. "I stood there and let you beat on me for two fucking years, don't tell me about being there! I only ever came home _because_ you were there. I took on the entire company so _you_ weren't affected. I was only born so _you_ and Anya could have a great fucking life!"

You slam your hand over your mouth as the words slip out carelessly.

Indra's rough exhale is loud from the corner of the room. 

Octavia stills, swallowing harshly at your words. "What?" 

You pant heavy breaths, closing your eyes as a single tear makes it's way past your guard and down your cheek. You wipe it away angrily. "Mom _only_ had me because Titus needed an heir. She didn't _want_ me. Not like Anya and you. She fell in love and had Anya. She fell in love and had _you,_ Octavia. She _wanted_ you _._ I was an _obligation_ to make sure she had a fucking roof over her head _,_ so excuse me for struggling with her fucking death and where I fit in with all of it."

The silence crackles in the air.

You're all in. You might as well say everything you've ever felt.

You take a threatening step towards your sister, her feet grazing the front of your pants with how close you get. "You wanna know why I ran away so much? Because every single time she looked at me, all I could see was  _ guilt. _ You want to know why she clung to me? Because she  _ knew  _ that no matter how much she tried, she could never honestly tell me I was conceived from  _ love.  _ She could never tell me that for  _ one second  _ she didn't regret me. _ " _

Octavia shifts uncomfortably in her spot. Tears spill out if the corners of her eyes when she blinks.

Everything inside of you screams in pain - a guttural, broken sob escapes your lips as you fight down how grossly exposed you feel. You've always felt this, but never once voiced it aloud. Not to your family.

It shakes you to the core.

"I did all of that for  _ you _ , so the next time you want to call someone self-absorbed and selfish, try looking in the mirror." You spit the words so venomously you almost don't recognize your own voice.

You feel the pressure of Indra's hand on your arm; hear her whisper your name. Tears don't fall from her eyes, but they're wet when you look at her. She tugs at your arm to pull you away from Octavia. She pulls you into her embrace and you let out a shuddering breath against her shoulder.

You feel raw.

But, you also feel so much lighter.

Octavia wipes angrily at the tears that fall from her face. She jumps off the counter, rubbing her eyes as more tears fall.

"Octavia, wait." Anya reaches for her arm, but she yanks it away as she passes her, hurrying to leave your apartment.

"Octavia," Indra calls out to your sister as she gets to the door. Octavia stops, turning back to the woman that practically raised her.  "I love you, and I know you all love each other. You're all just hurting right now. That doesn't mean you don't love each other." 

Octavia nods, turning away and exiting before anyone can say anything else.

"Maybe I should go after her," you comment in Indra's neck.

"No. Just - just, stay here," Anya says, running a hand through her hair. "She'll go to the dojo and work it off. You know how she is."

Indra tugs on your arm to pull you back into a hug. You hardly resist. "Lexa, your mother loved you. Maybe that's not how you were conceived, but she  _ loved _ you as soon as she saw you. You might have been her obligation, but you were also her saviour. She loved you."

You let out a pained sigh, and let the older woman run comforting fingers along the top of your spine. After you successfully manage to swallow down your tears, you ask, "How come you're here?" 

"I wanted to check on you. I tried to call, but you didn't answer. I know how hard this time is for all of you, and Anya told me about the fight you had. How are you feeling?"

You shrug, slowly removing yourself from her embrace. "Been better. I broke my phone."

"Where's your bike?" Anya asks. She takes off her jacket and throws it on the couch before collapsing onto the cushions. Indra follows her into the living room, nudges her legs until her feet come off the armrest, and sits beside her.

You sigh, and rub the back of your neck. "I got pulled over and didn't have my license. I left it at the club. So the cop dropped me off and impounded my bike. Clarke came. She brought me home."

Anya shoots up, hand grabbing the back of the couch to support herself as she looks over at you. You cringe and turn, fiddling with the tea kettle just so you have something to do. "Please, for the love of God, tell me you got her number."

You blush and your eyes naturally slide to the fridge. "Tea, anyone?" You look at Indra hopefully, but she shakes her head, laughing eyes directed toward you. 

Anya squeals with glee. "Finally! Oh my God you've taken forever to do that. I literally thought I'd be old and grey and  _ broke  _ by the time you mustered up the courage to ask her."

Your cheeks burst into flames at your sister's teasing. The hem of your shirt finds its way between your fingers and you pull at the threads while she continues on.

"Are you going to tell your girlfriend about it?" Indra interrupts. She quirks a brow at your sister, crossing one leg over the other as she turns toward her.

Anya stops dead in her celebration, eyes widening as though she was caught with her hand in the cookie jar. "What? I don't - I - girlfriend?" She fumbles as her cheeks tint under the accusation.

Interest peaked, you shuffle out of the kitchen, coming to join your family in the living room. Anya continues to fumble, eyes darting from you to Indra as she drowns in her floundering.

Indra rolls her eyes. She crosses her arms over her chest. "Don't be coy. I've known you since you were only up to my knee. She's got a bird name or something. You talk about her  _ all  _ the time when you call me."

"Raven?" You screech. "You've been dating Raven and didn't tell me?!" You catapult yourself over the coffee table and land on your sister. Anya barely has time to cover herself before you're smacking her arm playfully. "How the fuck did you do that? And, how could you not tell me?!"

She laughs and whines and struggles underneath you. "I ran into her outside of the club!" She bellows. "Get the fuck off me and I'll tell you!"

She shoves you hard and you let your body fall to the floor. You lay on the ground, head facing the ceiling and hands resting on your ribs while you giggle at your sister's huffing.  "I always forget how unnaturally strong you are," she says. She fidgets with her hair, brushing it out of her face with her fingers as she scowls at you for making a mess of it.

You laugh, and it feels good. You feel good. You think you should feel guilty for that, but you're tired of feeling guilty. Even if you wanted to talk to Octavia, you know that there won't be a point today. Everyone is still on edge, and the things you both said are still too raw.

You let yourself bask in the lightness of the moment.

"No way!" You exclaim again, still baffled by your sister and Raven.

"Way," Indra confirms for her.

"Tell me everything!" You demand, pushing yourself up with your hands extended behind you on the floor.

"You first," your sister counters.

You roll your eyes. "I was wasted. Raven called her, which makes so much more sense now that you two are together. She came and took care of me. And not the way your perverted mind is thinking. She took me out to eat, then brought me home, and I guess we both fell asleep in the living room. Woke up and had breakfast. She said it was a date. And then Octavia barged in and Clarke gave me her number." You leave out the fact that it was the floor you fell asleep on, and the kissing. You're embarrassed enough as it is.

Anya's smile softens. "O has always had impeccable timing."

"You're not mad I went out on Mom's anniversary?" You ask Anya.

"What? No. Lex, I'm just glad you're okay."

"That day is always going to be hard for you, Lexa, but your mother wouldn't want you to stop living. You deserve to be happy," Indra adds.

"Your turn" you deflect, eyes misting with your shifting emotions.

"I'm sorry," Anya blurts out suddenly.

Of everything that your expected your sister to say, an apology was not it.

"What?" You ask, baffled. You sit up fully.

She fidgets with her clothes, then her hair, then plays with her sleeves. "I'm sorry. I was out of line yesterday."

You clear your throat. "What changed your mind?" You ask.

"What O said yesterday. I keep forcing you to try and feel better and I just…" she sighs. Indra places a hand on her knee in support, "there's no timeline on grief. It's not fair. Mom called you. I can't imagine how hard that is to live with. I want to support you because I couldn't support mom. I know why she got with Titus. I don't regret that. That gave me you, Squirt. You're my favourite person. You don't like being part of the company. I shouldn't force you."

You nod, tears welling in your eyes again. "Do you like it? Working at the company?"

She shrugs. "I'm good at it, and I enjoy how much it frustrates Titus to see me there every day."

You laugh a wet laugh. You shift onto your knees and crawl over to your sister. Her laugh is also choked by tears. You collapse into her, arms wrapping around her waist as you press your head against her stomach. She runs her hand through your chestnut locks, the other hand rubbing soothing patterns along your back.

"So…" she says, and you pull back to look at her face. Anya looks at the fridge with a raised brow. "When you gonna call her?"

"I don't know. Tomorrow? Monday? I'm not very good at this whole-," you gesture into the air with one hand before collapsing back against your sister.

Indra laughs. "You're going to be fine, child. She already saw you at your lowest. You are  _ not  _ a pretty drunk. Call her when you're ready to call her."

You scoff playfully and crawl up onto the couch, right between your sister and Indra. Anya grumbles and Indra laughs, and you lean into Indra's side.

It's quiet for a minute, Indra silent in her support while you let your mind wander. You glance over at Anya, whose lips are upturned in a smile while she looks at her phone. You assume it's Raven. 

"How long have you two been together?" You ask Anya, while you drop your head on Indra's shoulder. Indra carts her fingers through your locks and a comfortable feeling washes through you.

Anya closes one eye while she thinks. "The week after we met them. I had to get some work done on my car and she happened to be at the shop. Whatever happened with you and Clarke that night made her go for it."

"She asked you?" 

"More like, she grabbed my face and kissed me, then told me to pick her up at seven." Anya laughs.

"And I assume you were there at seven."

"I was there at 6:45." She laughs at herself.

Indra laughs too, causing your head to bounce on her shoulder. "You always were eager, Anya."

"Speaking of…" you trail off and chew on your lip. "How do you feel about all of this, Indra?" You keep your head on her shoulder, too afraid to look at her and see disappointment in her eyes.

Your pulse races as she mulls it over.

She sighs. "Which part? Octavia or... Clarke, was it?"

"Both," Anya says. "And me and Raven."

"Well," Indra pulls in a deep breath and exhales, jostling you by stretching her arms up and over her head before wrapping them around you. you reach over to Anya and grab her fingers, so all three of you are connected. "I think that Octavia is very young and very vulnerable. I think she is the most passionate of the three of you, and having said that, she is the most volatile. She is still figuring out how to process her emotions. As mature as she seems, she is still only eighteen. This is a hard road to navigate at any age, let alone so young."

"I think that you're right to think you were born of obligation, but wrong to think that your mother loved you any less. That's like saying Anya was a mistake because your mother was young, but Anya was the first of the three best things to happen to your mother. And as for you and Clarke," she squeezes your shoulder, then shifts to make eye contact with your sister, "and you and Raven… I think that it's important that you both find someone who matches your energy, regardless of what they do. I am happy as long as you're happy, and I know your mother would be as well. I expect to meet them both."

"With or without clothes?" Anya jokes.

Indra laughs. "With, please!" 

Your welling tears turn to chuckles as Indra swats at your sister.


	8. Chapter 8 - Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath from Clarke's side!
> 
> Gay mess Lexa is the best Lexa.  
> Raven is the best, like, EVER.   
> Clarke is in L-O-V-E

You turn the knob of your stereo to the right, cranking the music until the rhythm reverberates through your bones. 

You spin through your kitchen, twirl through your hallway, and throw your leg out to the side as you let your body be taken by the beat back to your art room.

Your wayward foot connects with a can of paint as soon as you enter, accidentally sending shades of green splattering across the drying canvas on your floor.

You pause for just a beat to soak in the painting now - and, of course, it looks so much better with the flecks and lines and dollops of green, illuminating the breathtaking green eyes of the subject.

A smile creeps ever higher on your cheeks, and you close your eyes again, tugging on your white smock and get back to the groove. You feel like you're a part of the movie, Risky Business, when you run through the hall and slide in your socks along the hardwood into the living room, a bout of giggles exploding from your lips.

_ Giggles _ . Actual  _ giggles. _

You kick your leg out, knocking your foot against the corner of the coffee table and sending your well-loved sketchbook flying. The papers - with charcoal outlines of jaws, and eyes, and lips, and the curve of a particular set of hands - cascade to the floor slowly, as though you're inside a snow globe, the soft flutter of the artwork is the snow. 

It's a beautiful moment. Because you  _ feel _ beautiful. You  _ feel  _ something you haven't in a long, long time -  _ happy. _ Deep, in your belly, overwhelming  _ happiness _ that has you drifting to a faraway place.

That's why you shriek - absolutely  _ shriek - _ when you spin around again, mid strumming your air guitar, and see Raven, wide eyes and brows raised in front of you.

"Jesus Christ, Rey! I'm taking your fucking key away." You clutch at your heart and double over, panting wildly and smearing more rainbow across your smock. You collapse into a heap on the coffee table, ruined with your paint covered hand leaving a print on the side.

She yells, "I called your name like three times."

"You're fucking lying," you yell back. You know she's lying because she  _ must  _ be lying. You weren't that distracted, were you?

Maybe you were.

You think about bright green eyes and smile. You  _ definitely _ were.

Raven laughs. "I am."

You roll your eyes and shove your best friend's shoulder, pushing past her to the stereo and turning it down so you can hear her. She takes off her red leather jacket and throws it onto your couch, leaving her in a simple black tank and leggings. 

"Do you want a drink? Hungry?" You assume she just came from the gym.

Her wide eyes slowly narrow into accusatory slits. You shrug when she doesn't respond, and move into the kitchen, opening the fridge and popping the top off a beer, holding it out to your best friend. 

Raven eyes it warily, hand reaching out slowly to take the drunk from you. "Oooookay," she says. "Thanks."

You take out a drink for yourself and hop up onto the kitchen counter, taking a swig of the bubbly brew and letting out a satisfied, "ah". You swing your feet aimlessly, mind drifting to the next piece you want to create. You pick at the label of the beer while you think.

Raven, eyes still narrowed, takes a small sip of beer and scrutinizes you.

After a full minute of silence, Raven snaps, "Okay, who are you and what have you done to Clarke?" She throws her hand up in the air and slams the beer bottle down on the counter with her other, the frothy white head of beer bubbling up to the neck. 

You pull a leg up into the counter and rest your chin on your knee. "What are you on about now, Rey? Space documentaries?"

Raven chugs half the beer, wiping her face dramatically to rid herself of the froth moustache she has acquired. She then gestures to the room as if the answer lies in front of you.

Which, of course, it doesn't.

"First of all!" She exclaims, "you just offered me food. What happened to, 'you have food in your own house, Raven'?" She does a nasally, high pitched voice to mock your voice.

You laugh and shrug. "I'm feeling generous."

"That!" She says, pointing at you. "What is  _ that? _ That voice always makes you furious!"

"It's funny," you say.

She scowls, hopping off the counter, beer in hand, and walking out of your kitchen. You groan, knowing she wants you to follow her. She stops in the living room, poking at your MP3 player. "Well, what the fuck is this?"

"A speaker?"

She blows a raspberry at your ignorance. "When the fuck have you listened to anything other that music you can make a routine to?"

You shrug. 

She takes a gulp of beer. "Secondly!" 

"Thirdly," you correct.

"I will fucking cut you, Griffin." She waves around the room. You look around, wondering what could be her next point. When you don't automatically respond, Raven scoffs and picks up one of your drawings. She turns to say something to you, then catches the subject of the drawing and pauses.

Your cheeks start to dust with pink. Raven picks up another drawing. Then another. And another. And a fourth. She continues until she has a stack of papers in her hand and your cheeks are bright red.

"These are really fucking good!" She exclaims, waving the papers in your face.

You chew your lip. When you don't respond, Raven sighs, puts them back on the coffee table gently and points at them. You still don't respond, so she scoffs and folds her arms.

"Thirdly," she comments, leaving the living room and heading straight to the hallway. You're hot on her tail. She slides open the barn door you have in front of the art room and exclaims, "tada!" And points inside your room. She gestures from you to the room and back again. 

"What?" You ask.

"What - wh - Clarke!" She stomps her foot in exasperation and runs a hand down her face. "You're fucking painting!"

Your entire neck blossoms in a blush to match your cheeks. "So?"

"So?  _ So _ ?!" She asks, losing her patience with you. "You, Clarke Griffin, have not painted in  _ years!  _ Not since -"

"Don't!" You cut her off, arms flailing towards her to get her to stop speaking. 

Raven's mouth hangs open, but she remains silent. You let yourself relax against the opening of the door, gazing inside. "Don't ruin this."

In complete disbelief, she ask, "What happened last night?" She walks further into the room and plops down into your oversized bean bag chair. She lets out a low whistle when your cheeks instantly burst into flames. "That good, huh?"

"I didn't have sex with her," you scoff.

Raven quirks a brow. "I know. I've known you forever. I've also had sex with you many times. I know the content, 'I got laid' look, and that is not it."

You roll your eyes. 

"It's," Raven continues, tapping her chin with her index finger and looking over your entire ensemble - dirty smock, paint covered hands, lack of pants - "that's the, 'I am falling for someone' look."

You turn away from your best friend, trying desperately to will your cheeks into cooling down.

"So, what time did you get home today?"

"I told you, I didn't sleep with her," you admonish.

"I know. You probably took her out to eat, took her home, then tucked her into bed, and stayed to make sure she was okay in the morning, and made her breakfast."

There is no amount of turning away you can do to hide just how bright red your cheeks are now that you've been called out. "How long have you been lying to me about Anya?" You deflect. 

_ The best defense is an aggressive offense or something like that, right? _

Raven stutters, chokes, and looks down at her hands. "Um, yeah, about that -," she runs a hand nervously behind her neck. "The only reason I didn't tell you is because I didn't want to pressure you and Lexa, and I wasn't even sure it was going to work out and I didn't want you to get hurt and -,"

"Rey, relax!" You interrupt, chuckling at her bout of insecurity. "I just want to know how it happened."

"Oh," Raven says, melting further into the chair. She smiles thoughtfully. "I legitimately ran into outside of the club. She came to the shop to get some work done on her car, and there I was in all my glory -"

"You mean covered in grease."

"Whatever. Anyway, she comes up to me and is like, yada yada, you own this place, I need work done to my car, and I just flipped up my welding mask and kissed her."

"She didn't know it was you?"

"I doubt she was expecting the owner of Reyes' Shop to be the stripper from the club."

"I'm surprised she didn't punch you in the throat, then."

"Honestly, me, too. I took a real gamble on that. Did you know she's a black belt?"

You remember Lexa telling you she enjoys martial arts. "I think they all are."

"Jesus Christ, where were they when you were dating Finn?"

Your face falls and Raven cringes instantly. "So, uh," she scrambles, "tell me details. Did you get her number? Did you kiss her? Is she good?"

Your cheeks flush, and you wonder how much redder you can turn before it be ones a permanent thing.

"You  _ did  _ kiss her!" Raven cheers, fist pumping into the air in celebration. "I bet those pouty lips are so soft."

The memory shoots straight down to your core, a tingling sensation forcing you to clench your thighs. "She's great."

"Halle-fucking-luiah," Raven cheers. "I was honestly starting to wonder if you were becoming celibate."

You scoff. "I've had sex recently."

"When?"

You pause, trying to remember the last time you had let someone else… take care of you.

You're about to give an example when Raven cuts you off. "Your drunken hook up with Harper doesn't count."

"What? Why not?" 

" _ Because _ , you guys fell asleep mid doing the do? You were both  _ wasted." _

You chew on your cheek and think back further. "Okay, so like…" you sigh, "not since Finn."

Raven lets out a strangled whine. "How are you able to walk with that desert between your legs? I bet it's like sandpaper. Or did you lose feeling altogether down there? Droughts can kill people, Clarke."

"Fuck off, Rey." You turn back to your canvas, admiring the splattering of colours, free and wild on the canvas. After a long moment, you sigh and look over at your best friend, knowing she is just staring at you, waiting for you to move onto the harder topics. "I know you didn't just come here to talk about my progress with Lexa."

"Busted," Raven jokes. "What are you going to do about Bellboy?"

You groan. "Did you just come here to ruin my mood?" 

Raven laughs. "I came to check on you. And strategize on how you're going to deal with king mopey."

You sigh and drop your paintbrush. "I guess I should apologize for snapping at him."

Raven groans. "You were right, though."

Your eyes fall to your hands. "He's just looking out for me."

"He's  _ looking _ to get into your pants."

"Isn't everyone?" You sigh. You pull a knee up and hug it to your chest, letting your temple fall onto it while you look over at your best friend.

"Apparently, not Lexa."

"No," you say dreamily, smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. "She does, too, but she's also just so…"

"Nice?" Raven supplies.

"Yeah," you laugh.

"You know, before you got there last night, she kept offering to clean up the tables for Harper, and tried to give me the food I brought her. I swear she would have given me her pants if I asked, and I'm not even meaning it sexually."

"That's a first for you."

"I know!"

"Is Anya just as nice?"

"Yes. She was early for our date; she was so polite to the waitress even though she totally fucked up our order; she talked to the cab driver the entire ride back and tipped him way too much. She even let me set the pace when we got back to my place!"

"You're lucky."

"I know." Raven drums her fingers on her knee. "It doesn't feel real, does it?"

You chew your lip and shrug. "I don't know. Finn was really nice when we met, too."

"But, that's different."

"I know. But…" you sigh.

Your phone chimes while you're talking to Raven, and all the fluttery feelings you've gotten by just thinking about Lexa has you launching yourself over the mess you've created on the floor towards it. 

You're sorely -  _ sorely  _ disappointed when it turns out to be Bellamy saying, "I'm downstairs."

The groan you let out is so loud that Raven immediately laughs. "It's the man of the hour, isn't it?" She chuckles.

"Fuck me."

"He's been trying to!" Raven quips back.

You turn your face to the heavens to ask for strength as you buzz Bellamy into your building.

When you open the door, he's holding a bouquet of blue flowers in front of his face.

"Hi Bell," you drawl lazily, opening the door for him to come in. He peeks around the flowers, exaggerated frown on his lips.

"I'm sorry, princess," he says. "I don't want to fight. You're my best friend." 

You sigh. He already knows you can't stay mad for long. He gives you his boyish grin, knowing you've already given in.

"Thank you," you say as you take the flowers from him, turning to take them into the kitchen to find a vase. "They're beautiful."

He does this every time you fight. It's what started the path of insecurity Finn took before he lost his marbles.

"They're blue like your eyes," he says. You breathe out a laugh at the same line he always uses. It started as a joke, when you came home after your first date with Finn. He had picked you up, and procured the same flowers, telling you that they were blue like your eyes in an attempt to flatter you. Bellamy had nearly collapsed from laughter, and thus, started bringing you flowers with the same sentiment to tease your boyfriend.

"What's up, Bell?" You ask when he follows you inside. 

He scrutinizes your attire, and you only now remember you aren't wearing pants. You groan internally. 

"You've been painting," he notes, brows tilted down in his typical worried expression.

"Yup. I'm feeling inspired." You know it will sting him, but you can't just pretend that you didn't have a major fall out yesterday. You were willing to sacrifice your job over it.

You ignore  _ that _ significance.

He chews his cheek. "She's okay then?" 

"She's fine."

He rolls his eyes and leaves the kitchen, heading straight for the living room. You take your time messing with the arrange ent of the flowers, dreading what is about to happen. He huffs a minute later, so you decide to just take it on the chin and get it over with, marching into the living room and sitting on the coffee table. 

Bellamy is seated in the recliner, pushing a hand through his hair. "I just don't get it, Clarke." The annoyance in his voice is loud and clear, and your hackles rise instantly.

You roll your eyes. "You don't get  _ what,  _ Bell?"

"What you see in her? Other than deep pockets."

"Wow." You huff through your nose and turn away, folding your arms across your chest and digging your nails into your forearms to stop yourself from slapping him. "So, you think I'm a gold digger?"

"What? No!" He groans, running his hand through his shaggy hair. "I just - she - you met her at a strip club! She's only interested in you because you're a stripper!"

Raven emerges from your art room at that exact moment, eyebrows knit together in concern. "Really?" She asks as she tucks her phone into her back pocket and flops down onto the couch.

"Really?" Bellamy groans. He looks to you to ask if you can tell Raven to leave.

"Oh, no, please, don't let me stop you from shoving your foot in your mouth," she snarks.

"I might shove it in his ass," you mumble to her.

Bellamy takes a deep breath, realizing Raven isn't going anywhere. "She's Alexandria Woods, heir to Woods Industries. She's just another rich kid with too much money to spend, and from what I've read, she's rebelling pretty hard right now against her dad. You're just -," he sighs, "you're just a phase for her. I don't want to see you get hurt again, Clarke."

You force yourself to stop thinking about stabbing him in the eye with a paintbrush.

You clench your jaw, trying to stop the niggling doubt that you (and he) know will eventually creep up your neck and settle into your mind, festering until you can speak to Lexa again.

You know that he hopes it's a long, long time before that happens, and the doubt will turn to anxiety and you'll just call the entire thing off.

Bellamy sees his opportunity, knowing you're losing the battle with your head. "She doesn't know you - not like I do. She doesn't know that behind all this," he takes your hand between his own, "bravado, you're a human being."

You try not to pull away as he runs his thumb over your knuckles.

"You don't know her, Bellboy," Raven chimes in.

"Don't call me that," he snaps. "I know enough. They run the biggest Pharma company in the world. They're key contributors to the skyrocketing addiction rates in Polis.  _ She  _ is the key contributor."

His accusations don't fit with Lexa's heartfelt confession. "I'm aware. And, I'm aware that she left the company after her mother died. I'm aware that she  _ rebelled _ and left the company - the  _ pharma  _ company that couldn't save her mom - because she couldn't look at people like anything  _ but  _ human beings. Did you skip over that part in your reading?"

His expression falls.

"You're out of line today, just like you were out of line yesterday."

"I was trying to  _ protect you _ from ending up with another Finn," he reasons.

"You nearly let a customer, a  _ female  _ customer go home on their own, completely hammered. Who knows what could have happened to her?"

"I - I -"

"No. There's no justifying it."

He clenches his jaw. 

"You don't get to sit there and tell me you don't want me to date another Finn and then get  _ jealous _ like he did. You don't get to take it out on other people - other people  _ I like _ \- just because you aren't getting your way. You threatened my  _ job _ , Bellamy. Over what? Getting laid?"

"I'm your friend."

"Then act like it!" You shout. "Stop hovering over me! Stop treating me like I'm some damsel in distress that you need to save. I don't  _ need _ saving. I'm not going to fall in love with you at the end of this story and ride off into the sunset on the back of some fucking white horse!"

Bellamy finally snaps, "You won't even give me a chance!"

"Because I don't want to! God, Bell, I see you as a friend, and that's it. I'm sorry if that's not good enough for you, but that's all there is to this -," You gesture to the space between you. 

Bellamy looks at you, his eyes pleading with yours to breathe the life of love inside of his lungs - to give him a reason to believe that you want him too. When he doesn't see it, he swallows and nods once, eyes falling to the floor. "Fine," he grumbles. "You want me to leave you alone - fine."

He stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the recliner angrily. He stalks to the front door, shaking his head in frustration.

"Wait!" Raven calls. Bellamy turns slowly, sighing as he looks at the Latina impatiently. "You firing her? Because, just so you know, if she goes, I go, too."

"I'm obviously not gonna fire her," Bellamy drawls with an eye roll. "I'm actually not a bad guy. You just refuse to see that. See you at work."

He slams the door when he exits, shaking the frame.

"Well, that was dramatic," Raven quips when the silence lasts a beat too long. You fall face first onto the plush couch, exhausted with the stress that comes with dealing with Bellamy's emotions.

Raven runs a hand through your hair, feeling the hard clumps of paint stuck from where you absently ran your fingers earlier. "So much for my mood," you grumble.

"He's got a hero complex."

"It would have been very different if he wasn't there that night with Finn."

"Of course. But, he needs to stop treating you like a damsel in distress. I don't know why he's so obsessed with that."

"Because I  _ was  _ in distress?"

"It was over a year ago."

"And I still have panic attacks when someone grabs me."

"Which is completely understandable. Have you told Lexa?"

"No." You bury your head into Raven's thigh, knowing she's about to scold you.

"Why not?"

"It hasn't ever come up. She hasn't ever done that." You laugh. "She literally asks for permission every single time. Even when I know she wants to touch me."

"Prince Charming and the Princess. You're a literal fairy tale. You should probably tell her regardless."

"I don't want her to judge -,"

"Ah - ah! Yeah, no, I'm going to need you to think about who it is you're talking about before you finish that sentence," Raven says, laughing.

You sigh. "Fine," you grumble.

Your phone rings and you groan. You assume Bellamy is calling you to either curse you out or make you feel guilty, so you ignore it, letting it rattle against the coffee table.

"Uhh, Clarke," Raven says, looking down at your device. "You gonna get that?"

"No," you sigh, settling further against your friend's leg. "It's probably Bellamy."

Raven leans up to glance at it. "It's definitely not his phone number."

"Then I'm definitely not answering it. It's  _ still,  _ probably Bellamy."

"Then answer it and tell him to fuck off!"

"I'll pass."

The phone continues to ring, and Raven rolls her eyes at it. She reaches down to the coffee table, jostling you, and presses the speaker button.

Immediately, the melodic voice you can't get enough of starts speaking, to, you think, herself.

And then she says your name, and you perk up, sitting straight up on the couch to hear her more clearly.

_ "Hello Clarke…Ugh, no, Jesus Lexa, that's so formal. Maybe... Hey Clarke... Ugh, no, too casual... Hola Clarke!.. Oh my God what is wrong with you? You're not even Spanish!… How  _ you _ doin?... Oh, for the ever loving Christ, I'm never going to be able to do this." _

"Lexa?" You ask. 

At first, there's a gasp, then a shriek, then a sequence of buttons before the phone hangs up.

Raven looks to you, eyes wide and mouth twitching with how hard she is trying to suppress her laughter, while you pout down at the phone. 

Realizing you don't actually have her number, you grab it from the table. You save it in your contacts, attaching the picture you took last night - the one of her with ketchup all over her face.

The phone rings again before you finish.

"Hello?" You answer quickly, trying your best to stifle your excitement as you press the phone to your ear.

"Put it on speaker," Raven stage whispers. You give her the finger and turn your body away from her and into the side of the couch, pressing the phone firmer against your ear.

_ "Clarke," _ Lexa breathes, and even with all of her practicing,  _ this _ is the most perfect greeting you could have ever heard.

"Hey, you."

_ "Hey, hello, hi, um, hi." _ She takes a deep breath in.

You wonder if you were disconnected when you don't hear her exhale.

_ "Hi, _ " expels from her lips with the rush of air.

"Hi." You can't stop the smile that splits your face from just hearing her voice.

"Clarke!" Raven whispers, waving her hands wildly. You shove her shoulder when she tries to get close to you.

_ "Sorry about before," _ Lexa says,  _ "it was - I was -," _

"Butt-dial?" You assume, elbowing Raven in the ribs as she leans her ear against the outside of the phone, only able to do so by lying on top of you.

_ "Yes, um, yeah." _

_ "Oh my God, Lexa, use your words!" _ You hear in the background. Lexa muffles the phone, but you can clearly hear her speaking to the person (you assume Anya from the sounds of it) in the background.

Raven nods, agreeing with her girlfriend, that she can obviously hear since she is basically draped across you to listen in to the conversation.

_ "Sorry," _ Lexa mumbles.  _ "I just wanted to make sure you had my number." _

"Is that the only reason you called?" You tease.

Raven fakes a gag. You slam your hand over her mouth and she makes a face.

_ "Um, no, how are you?" _ Lexa laughs nervously.  _ "Are you busy?" _

"I am so happy you called."

_ "It's not too soon?" _ You can hear the panic in her voice.  _ "I was, obviously, practicing what I was going to say when I called and I accidentally pressed the call button and then hung up. I realized that that was probably really shitty of me to hang up like that." _

"A little."

She breathes out a laugh and you can't help but feel a tingly sensation in your stomach at the sound.

"What are you up to? Raven was just  _ leaving _ ," you say, batting your best friend's face away from the phone as she tries to listen in again.

_ "Just hanging out and practicing what I was going to say when I finally called you, apparently." _

"You should thank your butt for helping you along. I was just talking about you." You leave out the part where it was actually an argument with Bellamy.

_ "Good things I hope." _

"Great things."

_ "Good. I was thinking about throwing my ass a celebratory parade for taking the anxiety out of it." _

You laugh loudly at that, and get lost in the sound of her responding chuckle. "How did the talk go with your sister?"

_ "It was…" _ she trails off. She sighs.  _ "It could have been better, but everything that needed to be said was said, so that's good." _

"Then that's all that matters. You can't control how people react to you or what you say. Trust me, been there, tried that, failed epically."

_"Yeah, I know. She's just my baby sister, you know? I hate fighting with her._ _But, um, I was, um, actually calling - wondering if I - if…"_ She sighs, suddenly nervous.

"You called because…" you prompt.

_ "Do you have any allergies?" _ She rushes out.

"What?"

_ "Allergies. Do you have any? Or any dietary restrictions?" _

"That's a weird question?" You say, utterly confused.

Raven facepalms, smacking your face with her other palm. You proceed to shove Raven off the couch. She lets out a satisfying shriek when she hits the floor.

Lexa; however, goes quiet on the other end.  _ "Sorry." _

"Stop apologizong. I like it. It's very considerate. No, no allergies or dietary restrictions. Thank you for asking, Lexa."

She breathes in sharply.  _ "Will you have dinner with me?" _

Raven jumps up from the ground, doing a happy dance and spinning around the room. She mouths a "yes!" To you, and you roll your eyes and wave her off.

"Of course," you say, your cheeks bursting into flames. "I'm off on Wednesday if that works."

_ "Yes." _ She says it so excitedly you can't help but bite your lip to suppress a smile.

You let your hand fall back to the top of your thigh. "Okay, Wednesday it is then. You wanna eat out?"

She chokes. You laugh. "Or we could order in. Your place?"

_ "Sure." _

"Alright. I'll bring the wine. Seven?" You ask.

_ "Yes. Sure. Seven. Perfect." _

"See you then, Lex."

_ "See you, Clarke," _ she murmurs.


	9. Chapter 9 - Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date chapter! 
> 
> Sorry for the delay! You know, life!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> HMU at jordswriteswords on Insta and Tumblr if you like!

The distinct pop of the bubbling mixture on your stove brings you back from your daydreaming. Anya has been droning on and on for the past hour about work, and your apathy has gone by unnoticed. 

It's six-fifty pm, and you're cutting it much too close with your less than presentable white tank and sweatpants.

You check the peephole of your front door, absently humming your agreement to whatever it is that Anya has been saying. "Listen, Anya, I really need to -,"

_ "And then! This fucking twat! She is basically the younger version of Titus - you know she even shaved her head - anyway, this bitch goes and -," _

"Anya!" You breathe exasperatedly. "I promise we'll talk more about the project later. I really do have to get going. Clarke's going to be -,"

_ "Ooooh, say no more, squirt! Ha! Hopefully one of you will be doing that tonight!" _

"Oh my God," you groan. "Officially ruined that nickname."

Anya's chuckles are all you hear as you hang up. You check the peephole again, willing the blonde to magically appear at your door so you can see her again, while also hoping she isn't there because you're so nervous to see her again.

_ Because, what if you fuck it all up? _

You had been frantically cleaning, and cooking, and talking yourself off a ledge, and your body slowly melts into the mattress as you lie down for the first time all day, the crook of your elbow covering your eyes to hide the state of disarray your room is in.

You had pulled every piece of clothing out of your closet, only to sit in a pile of 'no fucking way I'm wearing that'.

Two shirts are left hanging - a red flannel, and a slim fitting v-neck tee.

You can hear Anya calling you a useless lesbian in your head at your choices.

You opt for the white shirt, deciding that the last thing you want to hear all night is your nagging sister's voice. You jump into a pair of pale jeans, picking at the fluff on the leg while you pretend that, just for a second, you're not desperate to get back to the peephole of your door to check for Clarke's arrival.

You scold yourself for being so weak when your feet find their way to the front door again.

This time, when you look through the hole, there is blonde hair in your view. Clarke appears to be mumbling words of encouragement to herself, her eyes closed, head nodding as she mumbles. 

She sighs.

You sigh and pull on the end of your shirt to dry your suddenly clammy hands, disgusted by the sudden sprouting of sweat and frustrated that you've already managed to ruin your shirt by wiping your dirty hands against the material.

You're a useless fool.

You're stumble backwards, startled by the intensity of the knock, so lost in your self deprecation, and end up knocking your motorcycle helmet off the stand and to the floor. You grumble at your motorcycle helmet, picking it up and putting it back where it once was, finding yet another reason why you're not worth this date.

You're not  _ cool _ .

You take a deep breath to shake the erroneous thoughts and open the door.

And your breath comes out fast, knocked from your lungs as soon as you see your date on the other side.

"Clarke," you gape, starstruck by her beauty.

"Hi," she responds quietly, tucking the loose strand of hair back behind her ear again.

You've seen her in all forms of dress (and undress), and somehow, right now, she looks even more beautiful than ever. The way her jeans hug her hips, the way her light blue blouse fits her just right, the way her brown boots frame her feet, the way her hair, flat ironed drastically straight, stops just at her chin to accentuate the sharp contrast of the subtlety of her makeup. 

It's perfect.

She's perfect.

"You look stunning," you admit, your lips quirking into a soft smile. She returns it with a light pink dusting on her cheeks. It's so beautiful you feel the urge to capture the moment forever. 

"Do you mind if I take a picture?" You ask, the photographer in you unwilling to let this moment, the light, the soft pink of her cheeks, this beginning of  _ something _ , pass you by. For all you know, this might end in flames, but that's the beauty of it, isn't it? 

She plays with her fingers nervously. "Do you just want me to smile, or?" 

You step closer to brush a strand of hair back behind her ears, her eyes widening just slightly at the warm brush of your hand. Her smile is perfect, and you bring the camera up to snap the picture just before she looks away.

"Just like that," you whisper.

You snap another picture when she gets embarrassed and pushes your shoulder, just because you can.

"You look nice, Lexa," she admits. 

You're too lost in thoughts of background sunsets and sun kissed skin and an entire shoot just dedicated to this magnificent creature.

She chuckles, her hand waving in your face. You smile shyly and shake your head, caught. "You brought wine!" You say with too much excitement, turning to hang the camera back up as your cheeks flush.

"I did," she laughs. She points the bottom of the bottle to your chest. "You have to let me in to drink it, though."

You stutter and laugh, your cheeks turning a bright red. You move aside and gesture for her to enter. She cups your cheek as she walks in, her thumb grazing your bottom lip softly. Your eyes close, and you breathe in the scent of her perfume. She presses a small kiss to your lips where her thumb traced. "Thank you."

Your eyes flutter open when she traces over your lip again, a dreamy look in your eye as you return the kiss to the tip of her thumb.  It's incredibly domestic, considering this is the second time you've truly hung out with the blonde, but seeing someone completely naked would accelerate even the newest of relationships, you're sure.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

She puts the wine down on the counter and leans against the ledge. "It smells great in here."

You smile over at her, rummaging through a drawer for a corkscrew. You open the bottle, pouring a glass for both of you before you respond. 

You hand her her glass of red and say, "Thai. It's simple, but delicious. Indra even let me use her recipe."

"Indra?"

"My…" your cheeks burst into flames. "My chef." You forgot how entitled you sound when you speak of your upbringing.

Clarke's eyes widen and she hides her laugh behind a sip of wine. "Your chef."

Your cheeks darken. "She's my dad's chef. She cooked for us. She ended up taking care of us along with my mom. She's basically family. She's not my chef-chef," you reason, fumbling over the words while you backtrack.

"Well," Clarke says, inhaling deeply once more, "you'll have to tell your not chef-chef that it smells amazing. She did good work with you."

You take another sip of wine to hide your reaction to the compliment. "So, how have you been?"

"Good. Works been good, Raven's good, life is good."

"Not one for small talk, then?" You laugh. 

Clarke leaves the kitchen, headed toward the living room. She looks over her shoulder and sticks her tongue out at you as she walks to the balcony window, cradling her wine glass in her hand.

Your eyes wander down to the snug jeans; the way her hips away so seductively. 

"You have a shit view."

You take a large gulp of your wine and scold yourself to  _ calm the hell down _ . "I know," you laugh, following her.

"I grew up in the suburbs," she says. Her eyes flit to you when you stand next to her before they look back out over the street. "My parents had a house too big for just the three of us."

"You don't have any siblings?"

"No. I always wanted one, but my parents couldn't swing it with their jobs. I was a happy accident, my dad would say."

You wonder if telling her that she makes you happy is too awkward. "Is that where your mom still lives?"

"Yes," she sighs, a hint of sadness in her voice.

"When was the last time you spoke to her."

"Four or five years ago. We're both stubborn. My dad was the bridge, and we tried when he died, but… some relationships are meant to be long distance."

You tap the edge of your wine glass, eyes unfocused on the chaos below. You're thinking about not being able to speak to your mom. "It sounds lonely."

"It can be," she shrugs. "Especially around the holidays."

She walks about your space, and you watch her, imagining her in your hoodie, your tracksuits on lazy Christmas mornings. You contemplate telling her that she can spend the holidays with you from now on.

"You take nice pictures," she comments, scrutinizing a picture you took of Anya atop a ferris wheel at sunset.

You sneak over to your other camera camera (because, of course you have multiple), fingering it and pulling it behind your back. 

You watch her as she moves throughout the living room, grazing things with her fingers, learning about you by immersing herself in the memories of your life. 

You follow her at a short distance, feigning to go back to the kitchen so she feels undisturbed in her perusal.

She crosses in front of the balcony window again, reaching down to run her finger along the long leaf of one of your recently purchased plants, and you quickly snap a photograph of her.

You can tell without even looking at the print that it will be a keeper.

"Did you just -"

You can't stop the smile from your lips she rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out again, so you snap another.

She drops her head to the side and gives you a a stern look. "Lexa."

"Clarke. The lighting is perfect. You look beautiful. I want to remember this."

She blushes. "Charmer."

She gives you a few more cheeky poses while you chatter on aimlessly about martial arts and hiking and answering questions that pop into her mind as she peruses your pictures.

You finally settle next to her by the balcony again after checking on the meal you've prepared. The sun dances off the rooftops and casts a warm, soft glow over the street below. 

"I guess the views not so bad," she admits, eyes focused on a pick up game of stickball down below.

"It's the best thing I've seen," you say, being as cliche as ever when your eyes only focus on her profile.

You are so,  _ so  _ fucked.

She turns slowly, eyes shimmering happily when she looks at you. She rims the top of her wine glass with her middle finger, her eyes dilating as she takes you in.

"Can I kiss you?" you ask softly.

She takes your wine glass from you, and puts both yours and hers on the closest surface. She cups your cheek, stroking slowly and smiling. You lean in slowly, press your nose against hers, your lips hover over hers. She leans in the last ten percent and softly, chastely, presses your mouths together. 

She tastes like spearmint and wine, and your head spins as the softness of her tongue slips into your mouth and dances with yours.

Before you can get carried away, the timer for your food goes. You drop your forehead to Clarke's and groan at the interruption. She chuckles quietly and places another kiss on your bottom lip when you pout up at her.

You drag your feet back into the kitchen, and she's not far behind. You lift the lid and let the heat rise out of the pot, watching the bubbling brown absorbing the delicious blend of spices Indra gave you.

"Oh my God, that smells amazing," Clarke says from behind you. 

You take the wooden spoon and stir the sauce while you drop the uncooked pasta into the boiling water next to it. You take the spoon out and make a cup with your hands underneath the spoon, gesturing for Clarke to try it. She blows gently on it before taking a small amount with her teeth. She covers her mouth while she nods, eyes alight with glee as she savours the sauce. "That is  _ so _ fucking good."

"Indra's special blend of spices."

"It's cheating if you use a professional chef's blend."

You laugh and stick your tongue out. "It's also cheating if you use your dad's egg recipe."

"Touche. I guess we're just a bunch of cheaters, then."

You pull a face and she wraps her arms around you from behind, kissing the spot between your shoulder blades. "Different kind of cheating, babe."

"What are your thoughts on that?" You ask sheepishly. You cover the pot and turn in her embrace. "It's different, with what you do."

"Not really. I don't fuck my customers." She shrugs, leaning back.

You give her a pointed look.

"I didn't fuck you," she defends. She squeezes your butt, "Not really. And besides, the emotional side to cheating is significantly worse than physical to me. People touch my body regularly, but I've always kept it separate. When I involve my emotions with the physicality, that's special. I guess it just depends on what the people in the relationship want."

"And, what do you want?" You ask.

"Are we in a relationship? Or hypothetical?"

You swallow. This is a conversation you were not expecting to have so soon. Your voice cracks when you ask, "What do you want it to be?"

She taps the edge of the counter thoughtfully. "What do  _ you  _ want?"

"I asked first."

"Yeah, but, I don't know if you understand what it is I do. I can't - I don't want to get into another relationship with someone who isn't okay with what my job really is. It's me grinding all over people and saying dirty shit to them. Telling them what they want to hear. There's no emotional connection at the club, and you - the person I'm with has to understand that."

You sigh, running your hand soothingly on her lower back. "It's your job, Clarke. It's like being mad at a painter for painting. It wasn't Costia having sex with Niylah that hurt me, it was the fact that she lied about her feelings for her. She  _ insisted  _ that they were just friends. She made me think I was crazy, and she manipulated me to agree with her."

"She sounds like a bitch."

You laugh, a small, breath of a laugh. "I guess so."

A hush falls over you two, blue and green melting together when they meet. Your heart thumps lazily in your chest. "What did you mean… when you said 'another relationship with someone who doesn't understand'?"

Her eyes drop to the floor and she chews on her bottom lip. "My ex couldn't handle it. He thought he could, but," she laughs dryly, "he couldn't. Like, at all." Her eyes sparkle with tears, and you desperately want to ask, but you know that this isn't the right time.

"That's rough."

She chews her lip again, contemplatively, then rests her forehead on your shoulder. "So… what do you want, Lexa? Knowing all that," she mumbles into your shirt.

"What?" You ask.

She groans loudly, tickling your side. "I  _ know  _ you heard me."

"I didn't!" You cry, laughing as she squeezes your sides tightly.

She makes a dramatic show of sighing and looking you in the eye when your laughter finally does down.

"What do you want?" She whispers, the vulnerability loud and clear.

"You," you murmur, leaning down just an inch to rest your forehead against hers. "Early mornings. Late nights. Physically. Emotionally. Whatever way you want, Clarke. If you'll have me."

Her eyes dilate, and in a flash, she is kissing you hard, pushing you up against the counter with a soft "umph". Your knees buckle underneath you as she pushes and pushes and pushes further into you. 

Your head spins, breaths coming in short pants as she overwhelms you with you lips and teeth and tongue. You feel the heat growing between your legs, in your stomach and in your chest, so you slow down her frantic pace, cupping her face between your hands. You slow down each kiss you give, letting your lips linger against hers for extended periods until your breathing is steady. "Is that okay?" You murmur.

She smiles against your mouth and bites your bottom lip softly. Her hands find the hem of your shirt and she tugs you to press as much of your body into hers.

"What about dinner?" You ask between kisses. You've already reached behind yourself and turned the burner off, pushing the pots to the back so that it doesn't burn while refusing to disentangle yourself from the blonde's mouth.

"Later," she mumbles, taking a step backwards. She stops you when you lean forward to kiss her again, a laugh bubbling from her throat when you pout into the air. 

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you search her blue eyes for an answer to the question you don't know how to ask.

"I want you, Lexa," she says. "In all ways."

She takes a step back and crooks a finger at you, willing you to follow. "I want you, too."


	10. Chapter 10 - Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut smut.
> 
> ALL THE SMUT.
> 
> Enjoy!

The first thing you notice when she presses into you again is the way her bottom lip trembles right before she kisses you. It reverberates in your heart like the beginnings of an earthquake, l the moment the ground shifts and you lose your footing.

She lets out the tiniest of whimpers when you kiss her harder, trying to get the trembling bottom lip to steady, because,  _ it's okay, you're okay,  _ is all you want her to feel. 

The second thing you notice is the way your hands immediately grip at her shirt, desperate and longing and needy. You're pulling her closer, needing her closer, wanting her closer.

You ball the material in your hands and step backwards to pull her towards her bedroom. She moves fluidly with you, your bodies in sync as you somehow manage to avoid all obstacles on your path.

Her hands hover tentatively over you - your cheeks, your shoulders, your hips - and you're so busy pulling her, you don't have time to swoon (or tease her) for her unending chivalry. She's forced to grasp onto your waist when you decide to stop abruptly, putting an end to her unsure hands.

"Sorry," she mumbles, and you bite her bottom lip, pressing your hands over hers to keep them in place when she tries to pull them away.

"Show me your bedroom," you reply, nipping at the kiss-swollen lips again.

A surge of confidence flows through her at your request, her chest puffing up slightly before she steps into you again and guides you to her bedroom. She pins you against the closed door of her room with her hips, assaulting your neck with her lips. When she nips at your pulse point, a surge of heat shoots straight between your thighs. You try to give her more access, letting you head fall back while she drives your pulse higher.

You lean too far back, though, as your head thunks against the door.

"Ouch," you whine with a pitiful pout.

She does her best to stifle her laughter, letting her hands run through your hair to comfort the bruise and pressing a kiss to your nose. 

"Are you okay?" She asks, matching your pout with one of her own. "Do you want to go back to the kitchen?" Her eyes search your face, looking for any hint of hesitation. Any reason to stop. Always searching. Always attentive. Always so giving.

You shake your head vigorously. "I want you," you repeat, and place your hands on the front of her shirt, gripping the material and pulling her in for another messy kiss. She reaches behind you and opens the door, one hand supporting your lower back as you walk backwards to her bed.

The back of your knees hit the mattress, and you sit, pulling her with you while you move into the middle of the bed, loath to part your mouth from hers for even a breath of air.

Her arms shake as they press into the mattress to support her weight. You slide your tongue into her willing mouth and pull the hem of her shirt up over her bra. You catch a hint of red, and continue pulling the material until it's over her head and on the floor. 

You push her away for a split second so you can look at what the gods have graced you with.  The red lace bra she wears makes your mouth water. Her toned abs and sun kissed skin make your mind hazy with lust and your sex ache with need. 

"Are you okay?" She asks.

"I am fantastic. I want you, Lexa. If you ask me that one more time, I'm going to tie you to this bed."

Although her cheeks turn a bright red, the sparkle in her eye, and the, "is that a promise?" she husks out sends another pang of want to the apex of your thighs.

She crawls over you, and you let your fingers wander up her sides until it plays with the red lace of her bra. "I didn't expect lace. Or red."

Her cheeks turn a darker red, near matching the colour of her bra, and she hides her face in your neck, trying to hide her embarrassment by peppering your neck with kisses.

You push her back slightly, "wait, Lexa," you say. Your breathing is heavy, and your mind is slowly fading into the abyss of sexual desire, but you know she needs to hear this.

Not all girls are as confident with their body as you are.

You take a long look at her when she obliges, hovering over you and waiting patiently for you to speak. Her eyes are dark, the black nearly eclipsing the intense green irises. Her hair is messy from your hands, face is flushed and her lips swollen.

She is the  _ sexiest _ thing you've ever seen - and you work at a fucking  _ strip club _ .

"You're so incredibly sexy. You're so  _ beautiful.  _ Don't be shy when I acknowledge that."

You let your thumb trail down the middle of her abdomen while your fingers dance on the side, enjoying the way the muscles flex under your touch.  _ God,  _ she has abs.  "Can I?" You ask, fingering the edge of the lace. 

She nods and you reach behind her to unfasten the clasp. You slide the straps down her shoulders slowly, letting out a deep groan when pert nipples are revealed.

Her arms shake again, so you take a moment to soothe her, rubbing up and down her arms gently as you will yourself to not look at her chest just yet.

It's incredibly fucking difficult. 

You fail less than thirty seconds later, your eyes squinting in your resolve. Seconds later, you break entirely, your head dipping down to look at the glorious tanned breasts above you.

You gape, absolutely  _ gape  _ at the breasts that most definitely have been sculpted by the gods.

A burst of laughter spills from Lexa's lips and you're lost in the sound, mindlessly cupping her breasts, thumbs tracing over the already hardened nipples, trying to memorize every tip and curve and ounce of flesh being exposed.

She gasps, the laughter dying in her throat, and her hips rock into you, searching for accompanying friction to you mapping her body with your hands - the small divot in her lower back; the scars along her ribs; the raised flesh from a tattoo that you hadn't noticed before running along her spine, and the accompanying piece that you feel on her bicep.

But, it's not enough.

Your hands drop to the waistline of her pants, undoing the button of her jeans before she can get a good rhythm against your toned legs. 

You need more. You need all of her.

You tug her pants open and gasp when you see another hint of red lace. 

You feel her smile into your neck. 

"You matched." You say.

"I hope you like it."

"Jesus, Lexa, take your fucking pants off and I'll show you how much I like it."

She laughs, and you take the opportunity to push her off you, excited to rid her beautiful body of those stupid jeans. 

She shimmies out of her pants and you force yourself to not drool at the sight of the red lace thong. 

Red. Lace. Thong.

She has shapely legs to accompany the chiseled abs, and  _ man, she'd make a killing with that ass. _ You bet you could literally bounce a quarter off it.

She stands nervously at you while you ogle her like a pervert, your legs splayed open and your body leaning back against the mattress.

 "Fuck - I - sorry-," you shake your head to overcome the paralyzing sight of her body. 

You lick your lips, hungry for her.

You suddenly remember that you actually get to touch that body with yours. And then remember that you have  _ way _ too much clothing on. You pull your shirt over your head. "Come here."

She stumbles as she steps closer to you, staring at your chest reverently, as though this is the first time she's seen your breasts. "Wow."

"It's nothing you haven't seen before, babe."

"It's different," she rasps. She clears her throat and looks down at you, "it's real." And a strong urge to just  _ hold  _ her overcomes you.

Her hands hover over your light blue bra, her eyes searching yours for permission, and for some ungodly reason, your cheeks flush and your hands get clammy.

She looks at you so softly then, her attentive, intelligent eyes seeing right through you to the excitement mixed with nervousness of being with her this way.

Emotionally  _ and  _ physically.

You interlock your fingers with hers, sighing deeply before laying her hand on your chest. She lets it rest over the centre - right over your heart. It beats heavily in her palm, and from the unshakeable look in her eyes, you know she's trying to tell you that  _ it's okay, you're okay, you're safe with me. _

In this moment, you don't feel like  _ just  _ a stripper at all.

You press a kiss to her sternum.

She presses a worshipping kiss to your lips. 

You nod against her mouth, deepening the kiss, and she moves her hands to your breasts. She squeezes them, cups them, weighs them in her hands. Every touch sends a shockwave of want to your core and it's not long before both of your hips are grinding shamelessly against one another's.

She works her lips over every inch of your torso, softly, slowly, pulling whimpers and moans from you while she explores your body with reverence.

Your hips search for friction until you become frustrated again with the material that is separating you from one another. "Take my pants off," you demand, the uncomfortable stiffness of the material keeping you from feeling her. You're pleasantly surprised at how easily she does so without removing her lips from your skin.

She follows the pant leg down, sucking marks into your inner thigh that have moans bubbling from your throat. She kisses her way back up your legs, stopping above the apex of your thighs, staring at your soaked underwear. She breathes in deeply and swallows, showing you how the scent of you makes her salivate.

It makes you even wetter.

You lean up and unfasten your own bra, feeling restrained by the material when you see her perky breasts bouncing so freely and enticingly. 

She slides up your body, slotting her leg between you, and you shiver when her nipples glide across your already oversensitive ones. 

It feels like heaven when she kisses you tenderly.

It feels like heaven on steroids when she kisses down your throat, and grazes her teeth over your nipples, laving them with her tongue.

You don't recognize the sound of your own voice with all the whimpers that spill from your lips. You've heard yourself make these noises before, but you've never once had them spill from you  _ on purpose _ .

You clutch at the bedsheets, trying to stop yourself from falling apart early from just the wet heat of her mouth on her nipples and her leg between your thighs.

"You're definitely a tits girl," you breathe, panting when she finally looks up from her position.

You reach down and cup her cheek. She leans into your hand. You pull her up, kissing her deeply, trying to convey how great you feel. Your mouths slot together over and over, a slight sheen of sweat covering your bodies as they grind into one another yet again.

You can't take it anymore. You need more.

You slide your hand down between your bodies, feeling her wetness against the material of her underwear.

"Cla-arke," she whines into your neck, panting and shuddering as you start a tortuously slow rhythm through the material. "Fuck," she whispers.

"You're so wet." You absolutely love the feel of her lips through her underwear, and the way she whines unhappily at your teasing.

She encourages you by grinding down more firmly on your hand. Her mouth leaves marks along your neck as you bring her to the peak of pleasure.

"Take them off," she says, stopping suddenly. Your hand grasps her underwear, but she shakes her head. "No. Yours." She pants. "Please."

The sudden transition from commanding to cordial makes you burst into a fit of giggles.

"You first," you say.

She rolls her eyes, but laughs along with you. The laughter dies quickly as she puts her hands on the hem of your underwear, and you mirror her movements, pulling the material down in a hurried, awkward, but somehow still incredibly sexy way.

You twirl her red lace around your index finger before flicking it across the room, watching as it gets hung up on the bedside lamp. 

"Oh my God, you really did that," she teases.

"Come here," you say, taking a firm hold of her ass and pulling her body roughly to you.

Her slit rubs against your thigh, and yours against hers, and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the silky feel of her wetness.

"God, you feel good," she breathes.

"Fuck, baby, I'm going to come like this," you grunt, pulling her ass into you roughly. 

It's not at all what you want, though. What you  _ want, _ is her fingers buried deep inside you as you scream your gratitude to the heavens above.

She must feel your frustration, because she starts to kiss and suck down your body, nipping at sensitive skin while you grind your core against her leg, leaving a wet sheen behind.

When she shimmies away from your cunt, you let out a displeased whimper.

It's all for naught, because she pushes your legs apart and settles between your thighs, hands scratching down your inner thighs and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

She blows against your slick opening, kissing your inner thighs and teasingly moving closer to your sex before pulling away again, and all your brain can seem to muster is,  _ oh god oh god oh god  _ while you clench around nothing. 

That's when dark green eyes look up at you, asking for permission. She licks her lips when you nod, ready to savour every last drop.

You clench the bedsheets to prepare yourself for your world to shatter when she touches you where you so desperately need her.

The first swipe of her tongue is long and languid and soft and has you nearly exploding off the bed. "Oh my God!" 

Her tongue laps at the wetness you know is there, circling your clit slowly, luxuriously. It swirls around your entrance before dipping inside. The heat of her breath against you clit and the wet heat of her tongue inside creates flashes of colours behind your closed eyelids.

You pull at the bedsheets, the pleasure coursing through you and threatening to send you hurtling off the precipice of climax much too early.

Lexa's hands find yours, untangling your fingers from the grey sheets and placing them in her own hair, wanting to ground you to her - to the moment.

You scratch against her scalp gratefully.

She licks back up to your sensitive bundle of nerves. She wraps her lips around your clit, hums again when your fingers close tightly in her hair, and sends the vibration right through you. 

You moan loudly.

It suddenly feels like she's everywhere at once, and the air is sucked right out of your lungs at the way she expertly changes speeds and pressure, alternating between sucking your sensitive nub between her lips and long, broad strokes of her tongue. It drives you absolutely mad. 

"Oh, Fu - Lex - oh - oh god, oh god, oh god." You curl forward, a painful grip in her scalp that you know you'll feel bad for later, but unable to control your body at the moment. 

Lexa holds your hips down with one arm, running the other hand up and down your legs as you fall back down onto the mattress.

You're panting so hard that the flashes of colour become blinding. "Yes, yes, yes," you chant over and over, nonsense spilling from your lips as you look down at the sight of the chestnut haired woman between your legs.

She reaches up and runs her blunt nails down your taught stomach, her eyes looking up to connect with yours, and that's all it takes for you to let out a choked, "Lex," before it turns into a silent scream. Your body goes taught for an extended moment, then your back arches impossibly high off the bed, your fingers clench painfully into her scalp, as your orgasm nearly knocks you unconscious.

Your back slams back against the mattress, and before you can even exhale, you feel her long fingers entering you quickly.

It's the most intense feeling, your hips bucking at an increasing speed against her hand while your first orgasm refuses to subside.

The flashes of colour turn to spots as you struggle to catch your breath, determined to chase your second orgasm. 

You'd be embarrassed about how desperate you are, but it feels incredible, and she's looking at you so softly. You grunt at the frantic feeling of how hard you're canting into her hand, and she smiles, mouth wet with your arousal. 

Your desire to taste yourself on those plump, pink lips is too much to ignore. You place your hand behind her neck and slam her lips against yours, whining and squirming, and moaning against her lips while she fucks you into oblivion. Her fingers curl every time her hand enters you, and your hips slam down on her hand to get those long fingers deeper inside you, wanting her to hit every nerve ending.

She pulls away from you and sits on her knees, using her other hand to stimulate your clit roughly. She takes a nipple between her lips, squeezing softly, but firmly.

Your second orgasm washes over you almost immediately as she stimulates every part of your body. Your body draws as tight as a bowstring before you feel the inevitable  _ snap _ of release, and a warmth blossoms all over.

Her lips are on yours immediately, coaxing your orgasm into prolonging, or maybe starting a third one, you're not sure. Either way, it's ruining you in the best of ways.

"Oh my God," you chant over and over as she pulls even more wetness from your cunt. Lexa continues pumping, smile pressed against your open mouth as you silently shout to the gods above.

Eventually, your sweat soaked body melts back into the mattress, and she let's up. She pulls her fingers out of you, sucking the juices off and winking at you. You let out a rough exhale, draping your arm over your eyes. Your body feels boneless and heavy.

You can feel the wetness of the sheets beneath you, surprised by the amount of wetness between your legs.

"You're a squirter," she teases as she lies beside you and wraps her arm around your stomach, teasing your sides.

"What?" You ask, moving your arm to crack an eye at her.

She just quirks a brow and you groan unhappily as you lean up on your elbows to look at the mattress.

"Oh, wow," you rasp out, your voice rough from the noises you were making. You are thoroughly impressed by the size of the puddle. "That's never happened." 

"Really?" The glee in her voice is adorable, even with the hints of cockiness in her puffed up chest.

"Really."

She kisses your nose gently, fingers still tracing nonsensical patterns as you come down from ecstacy. "I'm glad you got to experience that."

And,  _ fuck _ , if she isn't just so perfect. You kiss her with your gratitude. "That was incredible. Just give me a minute. I can't feel my legs," you laugh out.

"I'm not sure if that's good or bad," Lexa laughs right along with you. She tucks her head into your neck and breathes your scent in deeply. "Take as long as you need, Clarke."

You trace a soothing pattern against her spine. As the heavy fog of post coital bliss settles over you.

"I feel weird lying in my own… juice."

You  _ still  _ can't believe that you squirted. Of all the sexual encounters you've had in your life, you can't deny this is the best sex you've ever had. You think it is because of the evermounting sexual tension between you two finally coming to a head.

Lexa shrugs and rolls off you, standing at the edge of the bed and extending her hand to help you up.

You let your eyes roam her body, the wave of dopamine flowing through you after that  _ incredible  _ orgasm making your heart beat lazily in your chest.

They say that sex gets better the longer that you're in a relationship, and she has already rocked your world that you can't even imagine how much better it will get.

The fact that you're thinking long term hits you with a start. You can see yourself falling for this girl and her dorky charm, and smouldering, natural sexiness.

Not to mention the way she looks in lingerie.

Or the way she looks  _ at you _ .

You think you've already fallen.

It's not until she calls your name and let's her hand drop that you realize you zoned out.

You roll to the edge of the bed and try to stand, only to flop back down onto the mattress with a pitiful whine.

You really  _ can't  _ feel your legs.

Lexa chuckles and reaches out her hand again, but instead of letting her help you up, you pull her back into your lap. She straddles you, resting her arms on your shoulders and smiling contently at you.

Yeah, you've  _ definitely _ fallen.

"I can't wait," you say, not sure if you mean it to the thoughts of a future floating around in your mind or to the idea of making her fall apart - you think both. 

Both just make you feel excited.

You let your hands trace down her chest, teasing the pert nipples, then move lower to trace over the ridges of her abdomen. Goosebumps erupt on her skin, and she shifts slightly in your lap, her wet cunt nearly dripping on your thighs

You move your hand down painstakingly slow, until your fingers are coated with her wetness from sliding and through her folds. You make sure she is watching you when you pull out from her warmth and slide your fingers into your mouth, moaning at the flavour of her on your tongue.

Her tongue replaces your fingers the second they pass your lips, her kisses needy and desperate and so,  _ so  _ sexy.

Your hand travels back to where it was before, feeling bad for the girl who so desperately needs friction. 

When you explore her folds again, she bites down on your lip, the eroticism of her movements with the sting of her teeth becoming one of your new kinks.

You run tight circles around her clit with two fingers, letting them slide messily over the nub. She twitches and jogs her hip to the rhythm.

"Clarke," she pants into your mouth. "Clarke, please."

You know it won't take much to send her over the edge, so you slide your fingers back and forth from her clit to her entrance, dipping a little further inside with each pass. She bucks into your hand in encouragement. You curl your fingers when they enter her fully, finding the spongy front wall that makes her shudder and gasp.

You smile into the next kiss. She drops her head back and lets out a relieved sigh when she adjusts to the overwhelming feeling of you hitting her g-spot, continuously curling your fingers to hit that wall over and over. You palm at her ass and help her grind out the rhythm that is leaving her breathless.

"Oh  _ fuck," _ she moans.

Suddenly, her breathing stops completely, and she arches her back into you, her walls fluttering wildly around your fingers, squeezing them so tightly you can barely continue to pump inside her. She lets out a silent cry and digs her nails into your shoulder blades as she goes up and up and up and dances on the edge of climax.

She just needs a tiny push.

So, you leave your fingers inside and curl your them rapidly, not just nudging her off the edge, but sending her flying off the edge of orgasm.

After a full thirty seconds of shudders and gasps and Lexa pressing random kisses to your hair, she comes down and melts into your frame. 

You look at her adoringly when she kisses your cheek and sits upright.

"You are trouble," she says, smiling down at you with a soft sigh. Her eyelids are heavy, the haze of orgasm making her sleepy and cuddly (you love it).

"The best kind." You kiss her bottom lip and lean your forehead against her shoulder, holding her as close as possible to your naked skin, your fingers still buried inside her.

After a prolonged moment, the sweat evaporating from both of your overheated skin and creating goosebumps, her stomach rumbles. 

You can't help but laugh into her neck. "Hungry?"

"Maybe a little," she says sheepishly. "But, I need to change the sheets." She sighs, and shifts, a sharp gasp coming out when she feels your fingers still inside her. She rocks back and forth a few times, and you love the way the black of her pupils slowly swallow the green irises again. 

You decide then and there that this is the best date ever.

"Maybe not yet," she pants, her hips picking up their speed, and her sex getting even wetter as your fingers make a home in her heat. "I only have two more sets of sheets."

A new flood of wetness drips down your thighs.   You groan, cheeks burning with embarrassment and you suck an admonishing bruise on the top of her breast.  "Someone's getting cocky." 

"No," she breathes heavily. She rides your hand for a few beats, the sweat forming on her brow from the exertion. "But, I have one if you want to try it, Clarke." Her eyes sparkle with mischief and you have to clench your thighs at just the thought, picking up the rhythm to a toe-curling pace, determined to make her come again.

She falls apart with a scream, nails digging into your shoulder blades again. When it finally subsides, a suspended moment where you milk the orgasm for as long as possible, she falls off your lap, face down in the mattress. She lets out an adorable, tiny whimper.

You're positive you're going to have marks on your back. You've always been keen to not have any marks on your body for work, but when you look over your shoulder at the beautiful girl on the bed, you really don't care. It might actually be beneficial for your next shift. 

You suck her juices off your fingers, then turn to pat her ass cheek sympathetically. "Oh, Lex, we have all night."


	11. Chapter 11 - Lexa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was halfway through this chapter when someone asked for a reward if y'all are good. 
> 
> Well, you've all been patient, so I present your reward - Commander Lexa.
> 
> This chapter is now significantly longer because of it!
> 
> TW: Clarke talks about her abusive past with Finn. If you don't want to read it, skip from her saying his name to the next set of astericks.
> 
> Safe reading, y'all.

The two months following that date is a whirlwind. You've never felt more alive than with the blonde tucked into your side, throwing popcorn at the television during Jeopardy - frustrated that her answer _("which is very clearly the only logical answer, Lexa,")_ isn't correct. You've never been more awake than when you're sitting at the diner at four in the morning, eating eggs and listening to strip club horror stories because Clarke is too wired to sleep after her shift. She complains that the eggs are never as good as her dad's, and you'd be a fool not to agree.

It is also chock-full of sex and masturbation. So much _fucking_ masturbation. 

It's not your fault, though. Not with Clarke's penchant for being naked _all the time_ . And even _worse_ is her love of selfies. Naked selfies. Masturbating selfies. Cleavage selfies. Lingerie selfies.

So many selfies. 

You'd have to be crazy to be able to withstand it.

The first time you had experienced the severity of her nakedness, you had been talking to Anya on the phone about the project when Clarke had strolled into the kitchen, bare as the day she was born, and started making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

You hung up on Anya without even a goodbye and decided to have a snack of your own right on the kitchen counter. You had peanut butter in your hair, and Clarke had jam all over her thighs. She made a weird comment about being covered in jam again, and you wonder just how kinky her sex life used to be.

The second time you were struck stupid by her nakedness, you walked into the living room after a nap to see Clarke practicing a new routine. She asked for your input. You lasted three beats of the music before you fucked her on your lap, your hand cramping at the angle. 

She would claim that it isn't her fault; however. She'd say quite the opposite.

Apparently, your inclination to workout at home drives Clarke absolutely wild. She tried to motivate you to do more ab work by lying naked underneath you while you held a plank (see? Not your fault), her sex just under your mouth. She told you that you weren't allowed to touch her with any part of your body or you'd never have sex again. 

You drooled. 

She caved, saying you could only use your mouth to clean up your mess (you really _did_ drool).

You held the longest plank of your life and ate her out like you were on death row and it was your last meal.

It was your personal best time holding a plank.

Then, the one time she suggested you use her as a grappling partner did not work out well either, your workout lasting all of eighteen seconds before she had your hands pinned above your head and you coming around her fingers. 

The cheeky smile she gave you when she finished made you swear to keep the fact that you let her win to yourself.

Because, truly, you both had a hand in the victory.

Your current tumble in the sheets with Clarke lasts well into the morning as usual, you both exploring each other's bodies in the most sensual and soft ways. You kiss every inch of her skin, and she explores every dip and curve with her hands. But, you lie restless on the mattress as you crave to take her more passionately, to fuck her - just ravish her body until she shatters with pleasure. It's been on your mind since you joked about it the first night you two got together - your thoughts running rampant with the idea of showing her your more commanding side. You just don't know how to ask. You don't want to push her until she's ready, and she seems _quite_ content with your mouth and fingers, fawning over them almost daily.

Panting on the bed, coming down from another toe curling free fall from the edge of bliss, you're so focused on not pushing her that you're not one hundred percent sure you hear her when she whispers, "get the strap on," in your ear.

The exhaustion that was starting to creep into your limbs dissipates like a shot of caffeine injected into your veins.

"Seriously?" You ask cradling your head in your hand as you turn onto your side to look at her.

Her cheeks darken with a blush. "Yes. I mean, if you want. Having sex with you the way we have - it's been so special, and I've never felt more lo -" she cuts herself off and her eyes widen. 

You throat gets clogged. You know you've fallen for her, but you don't want to admit that. And you _definitely_ don't want to be called out.

"-adored. You make me feel so adored, I can hardly get enough of you."

"But…" you lead, tracing small circles into the sheets in a lousy attempt to appear casual.

"But…" she says, shifting closer to you. She traces her fingers along yours before interlocking your hands and stopping your nervous movement. "...I literally would love it if you could just let loose and fuck me the way I know you have been wanting to, Lexa." She leans in and takes your earlobe between her teeth. "Show me what you got, Prince Charming."

You don't know how to voice how excited you are, your brain melting from her hot breath in your ear, so you kiss her deeply and nod. 

You'd feel starkly vulnerable at her intuitive knowledge of you if you weren't so _fucking_ horny.

You nearly faceplant when you roll out of bed, desperate to get to your dresser and back before she changes her mind.

Clarke giggles at your exuberance, a sexy, low rasp that makes you feel tingles all the way to your toes.

You take a deep breath to collect yourself, feeling the nervous excitement bubble through your veins, and slip the harness on, the eight inch neon pink dildo bouncing lazily between your legs.

When you turn to see Clarke spread out on the bed, you feel a growl tickle your throat. 

Her eyes widen and her lips part at the sight of you. "Well hello, Commander," she says, raising her eyebrows in jest.

"Commander?" You ask.

"That thing literally stands at attention. I should have known you'd get one to compliment your hands."

"My hands?" You look down at your fingers, brows scrunched and teeth between your lips in worry.

"Your fingers are… you must play piano. I bet you can palm a basketball."

"Yes, but what does that -"

Clarke raises her brow even higher and it suddenly clicks. You laugh and roll your eyes.

She crooks her finger toward herself, spreading her legs wide enough that you can see the desire dripping from her sex.

The growl you tried to swallow down escapes and Clarke shrieks playfully as you launch yourself at her. You kiss her body as you crawl up her frame, careful to keep space between your extra appendage and her skin. She laughs when the cock tickles her inner thigh and you shift to her side, both of you suddenly becoming shy at the prospect of what's to come.

"Are you sure?" You ask gently. You rest your hand on her stomach.

"It's awkward," she says, taking your hand with hers.

"Do you want to stop?" 

She turns on her side, contemplative. "No, I just… there's no way to make you with a neon pink dildo between your legs sexy." She laughs a bright laugh when she looks down between your legs. The dildo is still pointing straight ahead - straight at her. She sighs, rolls onto her back and pulls you over her for a kiss. "No, I definitely don't want to stop, though."

"Okay. If at any point you're uncomfortable or you want to stop, just say so. I won't be upset, because… well…"

"You're an adult," She laughs.

You lay between her legs and kiss her for a while, content to let your lips quell the playfulness of your predicament and reignite the desire to make Clarke come with the rhythm of your hips.

When you feel her hips grind up into yours, you know the awkwardness has lapsed into desire, the flood of want from her sex smearing across your thigh. You shift your hips back a little, taking the cock between your hands and guiding it through her folds. She keens at the pressure on her clit as you move the head sensually against her.

"You ready?" You ask, hands coming to rest on her hip bones.

She nods.

It's ridiculous to think that her wetness would coat the dildo enough for the silicone to be pleasurable to her, so you sit up and lean over to get the lube from the bedside table, your other hand trying to spread her wetness that's already on the toy from tip to shaft.

"I've never in my life found someone rubbing a dick so sexy," Clarke rasps, eyes black with lust as she watches you lube up the toy.

"You've dated men."

"Yes, but they do it because it feels good to them. And half the time they spit on it. Do you know how gross that is? You're lubing it up to make sure it feels good to me. It's fucking sexy. You're fucking sexy." 

You smirk at her and pump the toy a few times, the wet sound of the lube against the silicone an indicator of the pleasure to come. "I guess they don't last as long either."

"No. Have you seen me?"

You wink at her. "I'll try not to disappoint," you say cheekily. 

She sits up and kisses you, taking the toy between her hands and moving her hand up and down until you watch her do it. "I know you won't. Now, stop taking and fuck me."

Clarke shifts herself on the mattress, spreading her legs further apart as you settle between them. You guide the head of the cock through her folds again and watch as her chest rises in quick pants of excitement. When you settle the head of the dildo at her entrance, you look up to make sure she's still okay and are met with hungry eyes and flushed cheeks. 

You move your hand and play with her clit, and lean over her to suck her hardening nipples into your mouth. You don't want to push inside her until her eyelids flutter in pleasure. 

When her eyes do finally close and her breathing hitches, you push the inside her to the hilt in one smooth, slow motion. She lets out the dirtiest moan of satisfaction.

You lean up and watch as you pull out to the tip just as slowly, enjoying the way her muscles clamp around the toy, trying to keep it inside her. You continue the slow strokes coupled with focused attention on her clit until her hips start squirming and you need to hold her down with your other hand. "Oh god," she croaks, one hand massaging her own breast while the other grabs at your wrist to keep your thumb where she needs it. "Oh god, baby."

She comes abruptly, a low groan and the tight ring of her opening fluttering around the toy. 

"Not fair," she whines with a pout when she catches her breath. She slaps at your thigh. "You didn't even have to try."

"What made you think I'm done with you?" You ask. "We're just getting you used to it."

You pepper kisses along her body as she recoops, staying inside her until she is ready to continue. It's just over a minute later when she taps your thigh and nods. Your hips start the slow rhythm again, rocking into her while you kiss her long and languid. 

She traces her fingers down your spine and lets out a content sigh. After a few moments of intimacy, she bites on your lip."I'm used to it, fuck. Fuck me. Please, baby. Fuck me."

You pick up the rhythm, pulling the dick out a little further each time before pushing back in. Her sighs start to catch in her throat, then turn to moans and gasps. She moves her hands to your ass and palms at it, urging you on, so you start to pump harder,  slamming the base of the cock into her until she starts to spew nonsense from her lips. "Oh - uh - Jesus - good - Lex - baby - oh god."

You pull her leg over your shoulder, changing the angle to get deeper, and her eyes roll back in her head. "Fuck - yes - fuck me, baby. Deeper." You pull the other leg up, pounding into her with quicker speed, knowing that the dildo is reaching further inside her with the new position.

Clarke is creating a sexy soundtrack to the quick pace of your hips. She moans and grunts and whispers, "fuck, yes, baby, yes," enough that you're starting to develop an ego. You hold her ankles, press kisses to her calves and thrust into her until her breathing gets choked and she's gripping on the sheets on the verge of coming again.

"Wait," she pants, and pushes her legs apart.  She pushes on your chest and you slip out of her immediately. Before you could even doubt yourself, she pushes you onto your back. "I want you to watch," she pants out. "Watch me."

She gets on top of you and wastes no time positioning the dildo under her. You watch in amazement as the dildo that previously sat in front of her stomach, nearly the length from her cunt to her bellybutton, disappears inside of her.

She rolls her hips, making the harness rub against your clit, and you grunt in response. She palms at your breasts and leans down to kiss you sloppily as she glides her sex back and forth on your lap. 

The expert way she grinds on you; the scent of your combined arousal; the clamminess of her flushed skin and the way her head falls to your shoulder as she fucks herself harder on your cock - her breathing heavy and uneven - all mix together to create a masterpiece that will forever be seared into your memory.

She mesmerizes you when she changes movements and begins to bounce up and down, her breasts jumping with each crash of her hips against you. She moans, and falls forward just slightly, her hands coming to catch herself on your chest. You watch as the pink of her vagina floods with more wetness, more heat, and suck in the neon of the dildo with ease.

But, your ego itches to control, and you can see her legs are tiring after a few minutes, so you raise your knees and lift her hips with your hands until almost the entire strap on is outside of her entrance. You thrust inside her rapidly, tip to shaft entering her with renewed vigor. Her head falls back, her tits bounce, as you dig your heels in to keep the pace and pressure up, her moans becoming louder to compete with the wet slapping sound of you entering her at such a speed.

When your hips lose their rhythm, you sit up, cradling her in your arms and kissing her with as much emotion as you can before shimmying to the end of the bed and lying her back down. You get up and pull on her legs to get her to the edge of the bed. 

You tap on her thigh. "On your stomach," you say, and her eyes alight with mischief as she plants her feet on the floor, grabs a pillow and puts it under her stomach.

You wonder how long she's thought about your slight height difference, because the pillow puts her hips at the perfect angle for you to enter her. So you do. Again, and again, and again, and again - faster and harder as she encourages you on.

Your hands grope her skin and squeeze her ass, looking for something to hold onto as both your bodies become covered with a sheen of sweat.

You lean forward and tug gently on her shoulders. "I want to hear you," you pant. She shakes her head, keeping her face buried in the mattress.

"Clarke," you say. You tug again. "Come on, baby," you pant. 

At the term of endearment, she forces herself up onto her hands, her head sagging between her arms as she rams back into you as hard as you push into her.

You grunt in approval, seeing hints of her beautiful tits swinging freely. 

"Let me hear you," you say. "Don't hold back."

She looks over her shoulder, her eyes mischievous. 

You realize that she's trying to frustrate you into fucking her harder - taking control - when she bites her lip to stifle her moan. When you hit just the right spot with an extra hard thrust, her mouth falls open and a pleasure-filled, choked scream fills the room.

 "Just like that, baby. I said, I want to hear you." You smirk and reach down around her body, tugging on her stiff nipples and moving the dildo deeper inside her, earning etting another whimper.

Her head drops down again and she gasps, holding in the impending release that the new stimulation pushes her towards. 

"Clarke," you command.

She shakes her head, silent and stubborn as ever.

 _Two can play that game._  

You squeeze her ass and pull her hips vigorously against you. She groans happily, loving the roughness of the slap of your hips against her sex. 

You want her to come, but you also want to extend this for as long as possible.

So, you slow right down until your hips are hardly moving, rake your fingers over her back and kiss along her spine gently. After a full two minutes, you feel the pressure build until you can feel the frustration spilling out of her.

"Lexa!" She snaps, pushing her ass into you so hard you nearly lose your balance.

You laugh, and push her shoulders down onto the mattress, and pump your hips as hard and as fast as you can.

You bury your nose in her skin, reach down and tug on the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs, and she comes so hard that she collapses onto the mattress, her legs giving out underneath her as the release rivers down both of your legs in hot splashes every time you pull out. It makes her shiver underneath you and whimper in the aftershocks of orgasm.

After a suspended moment, you slow your pace to a slow grind, and Clarks melts into the mattress, completely and utterly spent.

There's the distinct sound of the neighbor below you banging on the ceiling, but you're too focused on the limp, sated body underneath you. You slip out of her and unhook the harness, discarding it to the floor so you can lie comfortably next to the blonde.

"Oh my God," she husks out a few seconds later, only able to turn her face to look at you. "I'm not going to be able to walk tomorrow. So good. So good, baby. So good." 

Your ego is the size of a hot air balloon, now.

You're about to apologize when the slow, sexy smile that you've fallen so hard for graces her face. "New nickname - Commander. No more Prince Charming."

You chuckle and kiss her softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You take hold of her waist, lifting her tired body into the middle of the bed. You reach down to the covers and pull them over her shoulders, tucking the sheet under her chin. 

She smiles softly, eyes fluttering as she struggles to stay awake. "Okay, still a little Prince Charming."

****

Soft puffs of breath against your cheek, the sound of morning doves chirping in the rising sun and the breeze drifting slowly through the opened window is how you wake.

Not really. It's the sound of construction trucks, car horns, and the glare of sun off of the roof next door that rip you from slumber.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, annoyed by the morning routine, only for the feeling to vanish abruptly at the sight of golden strands and a pale back barely covered by your white sheets.

These are your special sheets. Your - impress mom when she comes to inspect your home - sheets.

You hardly ever used them, because, _really_ , who uses _white sheets_?

In this moment, you've never been happier to have ruined all the other sets.

Clarke sighs when you lean up on your elbow to watch her sleep, shifting the bed slightly. You watch her face even out moments later as she falls back asleep.

You can't help but smile. Your heart feels full and for the first time in a long time, you wake up feeling happy.

You ponder if the intensity of your feelings should scare you, but your mother was a big believer in soulmates and everything feeling _easy_ with the right person.

It's been so oddly easy with Clarke.

A grumpy huff breaks you of your reverie, and you see a sleeping, frustrated Clarke pouting as she tugs fruitlessly on the sheets that managed to fall further down her body since you've risen.

You roll out of bed slowly after pulling the blanket back over the sleeping blonde. Clarke groans unhappily when your body leaves hers, and you press a kiss to her temple to soothe her back into slumber. She smiles at the kiss, then her face falls into softness as she falls back asleep, content and naked in your bed.

You stretch, your body cracking pleasantly in your joints and your muscles pulling to remind you just how sore you are from last night's activities.

You sneak out to the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee. Your stomach rumbles loudly, reminding you that neither you nor Clarke were able to tear yourselves away from each other long enough to actually eat last night.

You pull eggs and bacon out of the fridge, as well as some cut up fruit and orange juice. You fry the bacon, wafting the scent together with the scent of fresh coffee towards the bedroom door in hopes of waking her.

You check your phone, sending a quick message to Anya, while you listen to the meat sizzle and pop, and once it's finished, you put the serving platter into the oven to keep it warm. You scramble up some eggs, adding a touch of Tabasco like Clarke told you was the secret trick her dad taught her.

Anya calls while you're beating the eggs.

"Hey Ahn," you answer quietly.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, you're alive."

"Yes," you let out a tiny chuckle.

"Oh my God!" Your sister squeals. "You two are ridiculous. You're basically already living together, but you're too chicken shit to ask her to be your girlfriend."

You cast a look over to your closed bedroom door, and turn the heat off the stove. You shovel the eggs into a tray and add it to the oven and whisper to your sister to hold on while you move out to your balcony for some privacy.

"We are not," you say, looking out over the cityscape and smiling at the memory of Clarke's sleepy face. "She's just, I dunno Ahn, she's just so different than what I'm used to. She doesn't expect anything from me other than to just be me. It's nice. It's amazing. It's perfect. She's perfect. It's been so fucking nice, Ahn, to not have any expectations."

"Did you tell her you love her yet…"

You choke on a sip of coffee, coughing while your sister laughs at your expense. "Anya."

"I'll take that as a no, then. Tell her you love her, and while you're at it, ask her to be your fucking girlfriend, you idiot."

"Thanks Ahn."

Your sister hangs up and you go back inside, your mind whirling at what was just said. 

Just as you close the sliding door, Clarke opens the bedroom one and steps out, hair dishevelled and sleepy yawn escaping her. She's in your white tee, not wearing anything underneath as she smacks her lips sleepily and rubs at her eyes.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hi, babe," she responded, another yawn coming from her lips. 

"I like when you call me babe," you say, making quick work of the distance between you both. She smiles down at the floor and you kiss the top of her head wrapping your arms around her and pulling her into your chest.

"I smell bacon," she says.

"I made bacon."

"I knew you were perfect," she responds, lazy smile on her face as she kisses your lips.

You both walk into the kitchen and Clarke pours herself a cup of coffee while you take the plates out of the oven. She moans at the taste of coffee on her tongue on her first sip.

"I am fucking starving. Let me take this to the table." 

She reaches for the plates, and your quick reactions are the only thing stopping her from burning herself. You grab her wrist. "Clarke, wait -"

Her cup falls from her fingers, and everything slows. 

You see the sudden and unexpected fear in her eyes. 

"Don't fucking _touch_ me," she snaps.

Her hand connects with your cheek with a loud _slap_. 

Your skin tingles with pain.

Time restarts when her mug shatters on the ground. Her eyes widen and she stumbles back into the corner of the connecting countertop, her breathing accelerating too quickly.

Your hand flies up to your cheek, pressing against the stinging flesh and hoping to stop the sudden ringing in your ears. 

"Clarke?" You ask, completely confused and concerned for the blonde in front of you. 

"I - I -" her breathing continues to rise and her hands grip the counter. "No, no, no -" 

You raise one hand up to keep her at bay. She shakes her head, shrinking further into the corner. You move to the side of your fridge to get the broom. "Clarke, stay still for a sec."

She starts hyperventilating, clutching at the shirt she wears. Tears leak slowly out of the corners of her eyes as she starts to panic. Her bottom lip trembles and she covers her mouth to stop a sob. "I'm so sorry. "

You ignore her until you can dump the ceramic and in the garbage and tuck away the broom. You turn to her slowly, both hands raised for her to see. 

"Clarke. Clarke, look at me," you say calmly. 

She shakes her head again, burying her head in her hands as she struggles to breathe. 

"I need you to look to me, love," you say.

"I ca-can't," she says, shaking her head.

"I'm coming over to you, okay? I'm going to stand in front of you, is that okay?"

She nods, breathing ragged and shoulders hunched.

You stand in front of her, hands by your sides and struggling to stop yourself from reaching out.

"I'm right here," you say softly. "I'm right here. You can touch me. You can count with me. You can tell me what you hear. What you smell. Do you smell the bacon? And the coffee?" You so desperately want to touch her, but you know that that would spook her and make it all the worse right now.

"I smell bacon," she pants.

"Good, Clarke. What else?"

"I smell you," she says, her voice cracking at the end. "I smell you, I smell you, I smell you."

She leans forward, shaking hands reaching for you. You let her hands roam your sweatshirt until she reaches up to rest her hand on your neck. Her thumb presses into your pulse point.

You take a large breath in through your nose and exhale slowly through your mouth, loud enough that Clarke can follow if she needs to, and also to slow your racing pulse. 

She continues with the uneven rhythm to her breathing for what feels like forever, until she is able to pull in a larger, deeper breath into her lungs. Her other hand falls to your chest and she sobs - heavy and broken - before stepping into you.

"Can I hold you?" You ask, fingers itching to soothe her while she cries against your chest.

She lets out another sob and the smallest of nods, and your hands instantly, gratefully, lock around her waist.

You hold her in the silence for a long, long time.

"I'm sorry," she says, looking up and moving her hand to the red mark on your cheek. "I'm - I - I'm sorry," she breaks again, another tear falling from the corner of her eye, down the tip of her nose and to your shirt.

"I know," you say, rubbing up and down her spine.

"I can't - I hit you."

You shush her softly, swaying on the spot as she falls apart in your embrace. You wipe her tears from her eyes when she finally calms enough to look at you, and press kisses to her forehead.

You feel the moment she becomes angry with herself. She pulls back. "We can't be together. We can't - I can't - you shouldn't be comforting me." She pushes you away from her and you take a step back, trying to stay calm in the face of her panic.

"Clarke -"

"No, Lexa, I hit you! I hit you! I can't - I won't - no, it - I…" She pushes past you and runs to your bedroom, another fresh wave of tears flowing down her cheeks.

You follow her, leaning on the doorframe and watching her cry as she shoves her clothes into her bag, heartbroken and lost and so very sad.

"Can we talk?" You ask. "I scared you. You didn't do it on purpose."

"That doesn't make it okay!" She shouts. "It doesn't make it okay." Tears pour from her eyes and she digs her nails into her arms, shaking and crying and falling apart before your eyes. "I'm no better," she mumbles.

You push yourself off the door frame and step closer to her. "Lexa, don't," she warns, but you hear the opposite plea in her voice. So, you take another step. And another. And a third, until you're standing directly in front of the crying girl.

"Clarke," you say softly. "What are you doing?" you ask. Your hands hover over her arms, wanting to soothe her with your touch, but she flinches. "Oh, Clarke," you say, letting your hands drop again. 

"I should go," she croaks.

"You should stay," you reason. "We don't have to talk about it, but - but, I would hate myself if I let my girlfriend leave when she's so upset."

Her eyes snap to yours and the confused look on her face breaks your heart. "Girlfriend?"

You run the back of your neck nervously, awkward now that you've said it aloud. You think your sister would be so proud. "I mean, isn't that what we're doing?"

"How can - how can you still want to be with me? After all this?"

"Because I know that _this_ ," you gesture around you then take her hands with yours, "was just an accident. I spooked you and you, rightfully, protected yourself."

She shakes her head, and you wipe away the next set of tears that fall. You cup her face and wait for her to open her eyes. "You're not _him_." You say softly. "You aren't."

She chews her lip and nods sadly. 

You smile down at her, a soft, reassuring smile. "How about I go pick us up breakfast and you stay here? You can take a shower. I'll be back in twenty."

"It's your apartment, I should leave."

"I don't want you to. Please stay."

Clarke relaxes slightly and nods. You drop your hands and move to your dresser, opening the top drawer that holds your favourite pair of sweats.

"I'll be back soon. Please don't leave." You hand the clothes over to Clarke. She nods and tucks her nose into the fabric, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

***

You return a half hour later, calling her name out when you open the door, worried that she's no longer there.

You're happily surprised to find her cuddled into the couch, coffee in hand as she stares at the blank television.

"Hey," you greet, shaking the bag of bagels in your hand to get her attention.

"Hey," she responds quietly, quickly darting her eyes back to the television. She wraps her arms around herself tightly as if to protect herself from the coming onslaught of your rage.

You sigh, drop the bagels ans sit at the edge of the coffee table. She tries her best to avoid your gaze.

"Do you want to talk?" You ask.

She shakes her head.

You chew on your lip, looking at her as she picks at her nails. You long to reach out and take her hand, but you don't know if that's what _she_ needs or what _you_ need.

She finally looks at you, focused on your cheek - on the red bruise her fingers left behind. She clenches her jaw angrily at herself and shakes her head again, dropping her eyes back to her hands.

She lets out a shaky breath. 

And then she nods.

"Can I sit beside you?" You ask. 

She nods again.

As soon as you're settled, she's reaching for your hand in the space between you, locking her fingers with yours. 

you realize she needs to feel in control in this moment, so you ask, "Can I come closer?" 

She nods, and you scoot next to her. You raise your arm and she flinches, so you ask again, "Can I hold you or is that too much for right now?"

She looks at you for a long moment before she bursts into another set of tears. You groan internally, thinking you've fucked it up, but she is quick to lean into you and bury her face in your neck. You trace patterns on her back, feeling as her temperature rises with her emotions.

"Finn," she mumbles.

"Hmm?" You ask.

"Finn," she repeats. She sniffs and pulls back to look at you, then tucks her head into the crook of your shoulder again. "He's my ex boyfriend."

"Okay," you say. You lean back until your head settles on the arm of the couch, pulling her with you until she's laid atop you with her head on your heart.

You bite down on your tongue, trying to not force her to tell you anything she isn't ready for, hoping that lying with you like this will naturally calm her enough to feel ready to talk.

She plays with the strings of your sweater before she speaks again. "He was really nice when I met him. He wasn't ever really nice to Bellamy and Raven now that I look back on it. I guess people only care to be charming when they get something out of it." She lets her thumbs criss-cross through the material and chances a glance up at you. "Most people."

You press a kiss to the crown of her head. 

She sighs. "I met him back home. At work. He said he didn't care that I stripped. He'd come to the club all the time and just hang out, you know? He was always so nice. He tipped an exorbitant amount, and sometimes we'd just talk. He liked to talk. He had that boyish smile and good manners. I fell for him hard, and started dating him pretty quickly. He'd pick me up and drop me off. He said it was for my safety, but," she laughs wryly, "looking back, that wasn't why. But I was blind because he opened doors, took me on fancy dates, told me I was beautiful. He moved out here for work, and because I was young and in love, I followed him out here. My mom was furious. She threatened to cut me off completely, and Finn convinced me that maybe it would be for the best if she did. He said he'd support me. And, I believed him. My friends were all out here, and now, so was the guy I loved." She wipes at her eye and you stroke the back of her hand in reassurance. "I miss her. I miss my mom." Her voice cracks at the end and you feel the tears fall onto your collarbone.

"He was totally different when we lived together. He was angry and snappy and violent. Raven kept telling me that he was like that from before, but I never saw it. He would always grab me, but I thought I deserved it. He'd never hit me, so it couldn't have been what she said. I thought she was just jealous that her and I weren't hooking up anymore, even though it had been _years_ since. Finn thought so, too. For a while, Ray and I were hardly even speaking. Bellamy kept trying to tell me that he wasn't good, but I just never listened."

"And then one night he came to the club absolutely wasted. Ray and I were doing a dance together - Bellamy's idea to give the customers something new and fresh - and we were practically humping each other, but, it was just work, you know? Anyway, Finn lost it. He grabbed me and dragged me to the VIP  room and was… he was… he was being aggressive. He shoved me so hard that a mirror cracked. He has grabbed my wrist and spun me around and pushed me, and I tripped over the edge of the couch. I sprained my ankle because of the height of the heels. I yelled, and Bellamy heard me, came in and saw Finn towering over me and basically put Finn down."

"Bell called the cops. I got a restraining order. Raven hacked into his work email and sent the police report to his boss and he was fired the next day. Last I heard, he's back home."

"And, yeah, so, that's my fucked up story," she says with a sad laugh. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"I'm sorry you ever had to go through that," you whisper, no other words coming to your mind that don't end with you asking for permission to kill her ex-boyfriend.

"I have PTSD, I think. Anxiety. It's not right, though, no matter what, I shouldn't have touched you." Her voice cracks again and you put your hand over her wrist until she nods. You turn your head and kiss the top of her thumb, nuzzling your cheek into her hand.

"Clarke, it's okay."

"It's not okay."

"Exactly. But something very traumatic happened to you. And I wish it didn't, but it did, and now you're learning to figure out the fight or flight signals your brain is sending you. I'm not mad that the wires got crossed with me. I _know_ you were just protecting yourself."

She shakes her head and wipes her eyes.

"Have you ever talked to anyone?"

"No," she laughs sadly.

"Why not?"

"Because who would take me seriously? What am I supposed to say? I'm a stripper and a guy thought he could be handsy and I didn't like it?"

"You can say that your boyfriend attacked you and the memory alone is affecting your life."

Another tear leaks out of the corner of her eye.

"Can I - can I teach you some self defense? I think it might help if you know how to protect yourself."

"Yeah," she breathes against your skin. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

You lie there in the quiet, brooding over what happened this morning with what happened in her past. 

Clarke refuses to move, and you're not inclined to ask her to. You trace nonsensical patterns on her back, randomly pressing kisses to her hair until her breathing evens out and she feels safe enough in your embrace to let the exhaustion from earlier pull her into slumber. 

***

You wake up to cold air. Your heart stutters in a panic when you realize you're alone on the couch, and you shoot up to find the blonde.

"Whoa, hey, relax," Clarke voices from the chair across from you. She sets the pencil and paper on the couch beside you, running her hand along your knee. "You're okay."

"I thought you left," you pant out.

Her eyes fall to the floor. "Would that be so bad?"

"Yes," you breathe out quickly. "Yes, Clarke, it would be." Frustrated that she could even _think_ that, you try to move closer to her, only now taking stock of the book between you to. You pick it up to move it, but catch a glance of what is on the blank paper. 

You gasp.

"That's not - it's not finished," she says.

"It's amazing," you say, not even a hint of a lie found in your words. It's a simple drawing of you asleep on the couch, but the simplicity of it is enough to display the talent in Clarke's hands. "When are you going to let me come to your place and see your work?"

"Lexa," she sighs. "I - we -" she shakes her head and balls her hands into fists. "We shouldn't be…"

You sigh and watch the girl in front of you battle with herself all over again. You watch her tear herself down. You watch her hate those hands that created this sketch for just trying to protect herself. You watch Finn still control her to this day and your heart screams in agony. 

So, you put your hands overtop of hers, wedging your index finger between her thumb and index gently until she let's her hands fall open. "Your hands amaze me, Clarke," you say.

You take the hand that slapped you and place it over the mark on your cheek. Clarke turns her eyes away from you. You then slide her hand to your lips and kiss the tip of her thumb, letting it rest against your lips until she looks at you.

"They're capable of creating masterpieces. They're strong enough to carry the burden of your past, and gentle enough to caress like a lover. They can paint magic out of a single colour. They can create sustenance out of a simple ingredient. They can build me up higher than ever before, and catch me when I fall off the edge. They can point me in the direction of home, and hold me when I fall apart. They're capable of remarkable things, but you're hurting right now, so you can't see that. They're not bad. They're perfect. They're perfect for me. Let me remind you of that until you remember that always. Let me hold onto these hands - these wonderful, glorious hands - for as long as I can. Please don't use them to push me away."

Clarke blinks a few times, her lips parted in awe as she looks at you. "That sounded like a proposal."

You sputter and blush, your hands become clammy in her grasp and your face a dark red. "It - I - no, it - You hungry?" You ask nervously, trying to deflect from that question.

She laughs gently, dropping her head to your shoulder. "Thank you," she murmurs. "For being you."

You kiss the top of her head.

"You, fucking, Prince Charming asshole."

You let out a huff of a laugh, calming yourself from her teasing. Because… she's obviously teasing you. It's too soon to think about that. 

_Obviously._

She sits up, cups your jaw to pull you back from the spiralling thoughts and pulls you in for a deep, long kiss. "I'll try not to push you away if you keep waxing poetic about my hands like that," she teases.

You hum against her lips, blushing again.

Shortly thereafter, your blush turns to a flush as she works you up and makes you fall apart with those same wonderful, glorious, marvellous hands.


	12. Chapter 12 - Clarke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite chapter so far!

You fiddle with the straps of your father's watch, spinning it around your wrist as you count the seconds that tick by until your shift starts.

It's always the last piece of you that you remove before you transform into Phoenix - the stripper without a care in the world.

You wonder if your father would be proud of you, knowing that.

You wonder if he'd still love you.

Thinking that he will is the comfort you crave when your mind starts to spin.

So, you turn the broken watch on your wrist around and around and around while your mind becomes a jumble of half formed words and over thought out feelings.

Bellamy hasn't spoken to you since your spat. He's distant and cold, looking at you with the frustration of a parent and the longing of a lover. 

It infuriates you, but, you miss your friend. He and Raven have been your only family for years now, and his disdain burns in the depths of your heart.

You fight down the feeling of abandonment that he's left you with. You're a hypocrite, anyway. You abandoned Lexa.

You got so scared of the vulnerability that appeared after the incident at her apartment, that you've been avoiding her, holing up in your apartment and staring at a blank canvas, unable to create a work of shit let alone a work of art.

You don't know how to _be_ vulnerable. It's something you tamped down - tucked away - when you lost your father. When your heart broke, and your mom started working more to avoid you because you look too much like him. 

It was pushed down further when you started dancing for money, your need to keep a piece to yourself, for no one else to see, was overwhelming, and your _feelings -_ your _vulnerability_ \- was the only thing that made you feel weak. 

And then Finn took what little you had left - broke you beyond repair, and now you're lost, an empty shell of bravado with a pretty smile. 

But now… your heart has become somehow exposed to the elements with nothing to protect you and you don't know what to do.

Lexa offers you no judgement. She offers you nothing, really, just a constant in the background, waiting patiently for you to give her a signal that she's welcomed back into your life.

Because she knows how hard it is to be vulnerable.

She texts you once a day, wishing you good morning, and waits for you to respond. It's not until hours later that you text her back, always an, ' _im sorry,'_ to which she tells you not to be, and throws your own words back in your face - _'it takes as long as it takes'._

You sniff back the tears that threatened to spill as you press the send button, and unclasp the security of your father's watch. You adjust your bustier and plaster on the fake smile you've become accustomed to wearing.

Raven sends you a worrisome glance from across the room. She’s been the supportive friend - the quiet ear to listen while you continue to make no progress with how you feel.

Bellamy nods to you on your entrance, but doesn't acknowledge you otherwise. He sulks and he ignores, but he is still the first to kick a patron out for being unmannerly. He’s still Bellamy, and it gives you hope for a resolution one day.

It's not until long after your shift is done, the sun peeking from the horizon as you sit on the steps of the back of the club, that Bellamy finally speaks. "I thought you quit smoking." He throws the garbage into the dumpster and dusts his hands. He looks back at you with familiar concern.

You let out a sad laugh. "It's not lit." You show him the cigarette that you've been twirling between your fingers for the past half hour, unsure why you even hold onto it. Unsure of why you’re still here, but the green gaze that litters your apartment feels more like a ghost than a memory, and you know that you can't face it.

He flops down beside you on the stairs, pushing his hair out of his eyes, then running his hand nervously over his jeans. "Are you okay? What happened?"

You force a smile at him and go back to rolling with the cigarette between your fingers. "I fucked up, Bell."

He sighs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, the large hoodie you've thrown over your body somehow not heavy enough to keep you warm with all of your thoughts. You lean your head into his broad shoulder and fight down the urge to curl into him for warmth.

"I hit her."

"What did she do?" He growls out, stiffening on your behalf.

You smile, force a laugh to stymie the tears. It doesn't work and there are tracks running down your face and dropping onto his sweater. "Nothing. She didn't do anything, she just startled me."

Bellamy rubs up and down your arm in comfort, waiting for you to continue.

"She didn't even react. Actually, she took care of me when I started panicking right after. She took care of me after I _hit her_."

"It's not the same, Clarke," he says.

"You know she's a black belt? She could have killed me." You laugh at the idea.

"But she didn't."

"Exactly," you laugh again. "She _let me_ hit her."

Bellamy sighs and runs his free hand through his hair. "She knows you're not someone to do it without a reason."

"There _was_ no reason!" You shout.

"Yes there was," Bellamy disagrees. He shifts and holds both of your arms so you can look at him. "You were in an abusive relationship previously. You have PTSD - rightfully so. That's a reason. But, it doesn't mean that you're _always_ going to do it."

"She said the same thing," you say, tucking your head into his shoulder. "She said she wants to teach me self-defense because having control of my body might make me less jumpy."

"Let her."

"I haven't spoken to her in two weeks."

Bellamy sighs again and a silent moment suspends between you. "I'm jealous of her," he admits quietly.

You look up at him, and he clenches his jaw, looking out into the dark alley. "She's perfect for you, Clarke. Finn wasn't. He was off - something was off about him from the beginning, but I am jealous of Lexa because she just… makes sense. Talk to her. You're not Finn. If you were, you wouldn't be out here crying two weeks later. You wouldn't even think you did anything wrong. You deserve to be happy."

"Thanks, Bell," you whisper. 

He runs his hands along your back. "Work this out. She probably gets it."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess." You flick the cigarette out into the alley, and take your phone from the pocket of your jacket. 

 _'you up?'_ you ask.

 _'yes'_ comes in a few seconds later.

_'can I come over?'_

_'yes.'_

***

You squeeze your hands together when you get to her apartment, trying to muster up the courage inside you that you don't actually feel. "You can do this," you mutter to yourself.

Lexa opens the door before you have a chance to startle yourself into leaving.

"Clarke." The way she says your name so reverently always makes your stomach fill with butterflies.

She looks worn, and your stomach clenches. There are dark bags under her eyes that you know are from her not sleeping.

You remember the hour, and just how quickly she responded to your text confirms that she was awake when she shouldn't have been.

You fight down the guilt that surges through you at that.

"Hi," you breathe out, your hands immediately coming together to fidget again.

Lexa moves aside for you to enter, and you walk right past her before you turn abruptly and kiss her on the corner of her mouth. You don't give her an opportunity to reciprocate or comment because you're already rushing inside to her bathroom, ignoring the beautiful smile she gives you.

You splash water on your face and remove your makeup from the club, all the while having an internal dialogue with yourself about what it is exactly that you're doing here.

You're so deep in thought that you startle when you see Lexa watching you from the door frame, her sleepy eyes half-lidded. Her hair is a mess of waves, and her tank top is twisted, but you think she looks so beautiful, even when she looks so tired. She gives you a sleepy smile when you catch her eye through the mirror.

The towel is halfway between your face and the counter when you blurt out, "I missed you." 

Her arms unfold slowly, her brows furrowing as they tick up in confusion.

You place the towel on the counter and take a step towards her. She straightens and worries her bottom lip with her teeth when you move into her space, your eyes dancing across her face.

"I missed you," you say again. You let your fingers twirl through a lock of her hair. 

Her eyes are sad, but warm. They ask if you're staying when you know her mouth won't.

Your hands slide to the back of her neck and her arms come to settle on your waist. "Can we go to bed?" You ask.

She nods, and you press a soft kiss to her sternum. You don't know what you did to deserve her, and you still don't really know what you're doing, but it's quiet right now and you want to be with her until you find the words to voice how you feel. 

You want her to embrace you in your vulnerability.

You're both lying on your sides in the dark of her room, the distance between you minimal but feeling like a chasm. Lexa breathes out a sigh as she sinks into the mattress, her hands tucked under her head. She watches you, struggling to keep her eyes open. Her blinks become longer as she starts to lose the battle with sleep, and you realize that she fights so hard because she fights to be present for you. She fights for you.

"Can I come closer?" You ask.

She nods, and you scoot into her space. Her arm comes to rest over your waist, and your hand on her cheek. 

"Can I kiss you?" You ask.

Instead of answering, Lexa shifts forward and presses a warm kiss to your lips, then rests her forehead against yours and sighs in relief.

You tangle your fingers into her clothes, anchoring yourself. This is the most intimate you have ever been, the most raw and real. You aren't hiding behind sex or humor or forced bravado. You're hardly speaking at all, because it feels like words can't do justice when what you need are actions, and you're _scared_.

You need to know you aren't running away just as much as she does.

You need to know that you're staying even though you scare yourself.

"I missed you, too," she whispers, and you feel your heart swell with affection at the simple sentence. You watch her as she loses her battle with slumber, a tiny snore escaping her lips when she settles down into sleep.

When you whisper that you love her, you swear you can hear the ticking of your watch.

***

You don't really talk about it.

Lexa just knows.

"Will you teach me self-defense?" Is all you say the next day, in-between coaxing her back to sleep with your fingers through your hair.

She nods, her head against your chest, and she manages to turn just enough to place a kiss over your heart.

"I protect," she mumbles into your sternum before being whisked away by the sandman. 

When she's forced from the bed to use the bathroom, she sports the cutest pout. She collapses back against you, yawning and grumbling because she isn't sure if she wants to wake up or keep sleeping. You're loathe to move from her bed, feeling as if you owe her the minutes of sleep that she's lost over you. 

When she finally has enough, sometime in the late afternoon, bordering on evening, you're sure to be there when she wakes, tracing nonsensical patterns on her skin and kissing her wherever you can reach.

"Do you work?" She asks.

"No, I'm all yours," you say, and the double meaning isn't lost on you. 

Lexa rolls until she pins you with her hips, but instead of kissing you, she rests her head on your chest and falls promptly back to sleep.

"Lexa," you giggle out, and she looks up at you, eyes still closed but smile on her face. "Come on, sleepyhead, let's get you some food."

"Seeping," she says instead, resting her ear on your heart. She hums to the sound and quietens for a moment to just listen. 

She eventually rolls off you and onto her feet, surprisingly smooth for someone who was dead asleep for the past sixteen hours.

"How are you feeling?" You ask when she emerges from the shower. 

"Better." She towels off her hair and hangs it back before asking, "how, uh, how are you?"

"Safe," is all you can think to respond with, and the smile that lights up her face is completely worth your lack of vocabulary.

Because, she gets it.

***

She takes you on a date.

A real, fancy date.

She doesn't really ask, she kind of just… does it.

You're walking down the street toward your apartment. You live several blocks from one another, but you've made up your mind that you want to _show_ her how you feel, and you think that if she saw how much you think about her, she'd get it

Or… she'd run screaming for the hills.

Either way, you're doing it.

You're halfway there when she pulls you into a cute little boutique.

"Pick out something you like."

"Why?" You ask. "I hardly need to own _more_ clothing."

She rolls her eyes and bumps you with her hip. "Come on."

You catch her staring at you from across the racks, her eyes darting back down to the clothing when you raise your brow at her. Her cheeks dust a soft pink every time.

She picks out three dresses, and you pick out five. 

You smile and blush and become shy around one another when you walk into the changing rooms.

Your tongue nearly falls out of your mouth when you see her in the first dress - a long, dark green ensemble that's cut almost to her navel, and a sheer material that leaves you breathless. 

She fidgets and you shake your head, already knowing that she won't be comfortable feeling so exposed.

If she's not comfortable, it's not worth it.

Your first dress is a short black and white striped piece, that ends just below your ass. It's actually cute, but probably not what Lexa had in mind. However, her mind seems to have stalled as she stands dumbly in front of you, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open.

You laugh, and she shakes her head, dipping back inside her room.

Her second dress is no better. It's a bright red mermaid cut that makes it look like she's about to go to prom.

You burst out into giggles as she twirls about playfully for you to see. "Hard no," you say.

Your second ensemble isn't a dress at all. It's a grey jumpsuit that has a dramatic neckline, allowing your gravity defying cleavage to be the star.

Lexa nods her head vigorously, but you decide to try to be a bit more classy for tonight. If you purchase it for another night, well… who could blame you?

Her third dress is a flowing, silky black piece with a dramatic cut from the floor up to her hip, and an open back that lets you see the entirety of her tattoo.

It's… _hot_.

She ends up telling you to purchase the blue one you try next. It's soft and satin and very elegant. It covers your most of your shoulders, but leaves your arms bare. You tie it together with a gold belt, and enjoy the way the material slides along your legs to your knee.

You feel sophisticated.

Lexa looks at you like you're the most brilliant person in the room.

You exit in your new clothes and accompanying heels, hand in hand on the sidewalk. A few streets later, Lexa ushers you into the most expensive (and pretentious) restaurant you've ever seen.

You've passed it so many times and never dared to go inside. But, you do, with Lexa, and you don't care about anyone else there because the girl with her hand on your back is lovely and you're very much in love, excited to tell her tonight.

You settle into a table for two,  a small candle flickering in the centre. It brings out Lexa's beauty when she brightens excitedly over the ball of wax.

"You look beautiful," you say. 

She blushes and reaches across the table, gripping your hand with her own. "You, too, Clarke. Thank you for coming out with me."

The waiter pops by, a lanky brunette boy with cuts along his chin from having to keep a clean face. He looks all of nineteen and his deep brown eyes shine with surprise when he sees you and Lexa holding hands. He smiles at you and happily lists the selection of wine.

You settle on white, and when the lanky boy leaves, you can't help but gaze at Lexa over the top of your menu.

When she smirks, but doesn't make eye contact, you place your menu down and ask, "Why are we here, babe?"

She shrugs in nonchalance. "You deserve a nice date."

"This place is very…"

She looks at you, a brow quirked, waiting.

"...not me. Not that I don't appreciate it..."

"Oh, thank God," she breathes out. "I've been trying to impress you, but this is so…"

"Pretentious?" You offer.

She chuckles and nods. "I wanted to tell you something, though," she says, "and I don't know why I thought this place would suit it."

"Another proposal?" You tease.

The way she laughs makes your heart skip.

Just as you're about to tease her further, her name is being spoken with familiarity by a voice that isn't yours.

Lexa freezes, her eyes flashing from shocked to angry to resigned to cold in the time it takes her to blink.

"Costia," she says, turning to greet the _gorgeous_ woman that stands just behind her. She's wearing a sparkling white cold-shoulder dress, that just makes her dark skin _glow_. Her hair falls over her shoulder and her face looks like it was created in the heavens.

"I _knew_ it was you," the woman - Costia says. She smiles brightly at Lexa and you try your best to appear calm in the face of her ex-girlfriend.

Lexa squeezes your hand once and let's go. It stings, and you pull your hands off the table and into your lap. You feel so incredibly inadequate if this is Lexa's ex.

"Where are my manners," the woman says suddenly, looking towards you. "I'm Costia." She reaches forward with a delicate hand, and you shake it, a tight smile on your lips. 

"Clarke."

"Oh, what an interesting name. Your parents wanted a son?"

"Oh, are you expecting a third? Should I pull a table?" The waiter says, appearing with your wine glasses. You take yours and take a large sip, trying to swallow your tongue and prevent yourself from snapping.

Costia says "yes," at the same time that Lexa says, "no".

She laughs again, and something about it irks you, but you dip your head when Lexa looks at you for support, and Costia waits for the waiter to pull up another table.

If Lexa didn't want her here, you'd hope she would have made a better effort.

Lexa sighs as Costia sits next to her, touching Lexa's shoulder in such a familiar way that it makes your stomach lurch. 

Lexa pulls away, making a face at the new guest. "Costia, listen, this -"

And because there is some sort of hex on you, Costia isn't the only one who calls Lexa name.

Lexa rolls her eyes and drops her head into her hands. "Titus," she mumbles.

Your eyes widen; Costia's eyes light up; Lexa groans in displeasure.

Costia stands and hugs the elder Woods, blabbering on and welcoming him to _your_ table.

Lexa takes a large gulp of wine.

Titus eyes you with so much hatred you wonder what you've done.

"Lexa. I haven't seen you at the house in a while."

"I've been busy," she responds.

You take your phone from your purse and send a message to Raven about your current predicament. All she responds with is the laugh-crying emoji.

"I've noticed. Been preparing for your return?"

"Oh, yes, do tell me about the company," Costia adds.

"Hang on, why are you both here?" Lexa snaps.

Titus quirks a brow. Costia responds, "Titus and I are meeting - well, it's twofold, really - we're meeting on the pretenses that I'm going to become an investor, and also because we were going to talk about you coming back to work. It makes so much more sense now that I'll be around more. I mean, you left because we broke up."

Lexa blinks.

You swallow more wine.

"I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" Costia says looking at you. "Claire, what do you do? Are you an employee of the company?"

"This is my girlfriend, _Clarke_ ," Lexa says. "No, she doesn't work for me. Please, Costia, the only person sleeping with my employees was you."

"Now now," Titus says with a forced smile. "Water under the bridge."

You wish you could drown in that water.

Or, maybe, drown _them_.

Lexa huffs and slumps in her chair, taking another gulp of wine. She signals the waiter for a refill, which he gladly does, the idiot.

"So, _Clarke_ , what is it that you do?" Costia asks.

Titus huffs at the question. He would much rather you not exist at all in this moment and you feel an ounce of satisfaction at defying that wish.

"I'm…" you look at Lexa who shrugs. "...a dancer."

Titus rolls his eyes and hums. "What do you do for _work_ , Clarke?"

You laugh and raise a challenging brow. "I dance."

"Oh, you're like a teacher?" Costia asks.

You send a heated glare to Lexa, thinking of all the new things you've _taught_ each other in your time together. She takes another sip of wine and just cocks her brow while she smirks into the glass.

"I guess it depends on the client."

"Do you choreograph routines?"

"Yup," Lexa says after her sip of wine. "She's quite good at it, too." 

Flashes of every attempted practice that led to Lexa fucking your brains out appear in your minds eye.

Titus sighs. "That's not a real profession. That's as much of a profession as your photography. It's useless."

"I do well for myself," you comment.

"Any high profile clients? Celebrities?" Costia asks.

"A few. They like my… technique.."

Lexa nearly chokes on her drink. You hide your smile behind your next sip.

"So, what's your specialty? Ballroom? Jazz? Hip hop?"

"Pole," you say. 

Costia _does_ choke on her sip and Titus folds his arms across his chest. 

"Pole? Like," Costia laughs uncomfortably, "you're a fitness dancer."

"Nope," you respond, popping the 'p'.

Lexa is struggling to hold back her laughter.

"You're a stripper." Titus deduces. You almost want to slow clap for him. You flash a brilliant smile at him instead.

Costia shifts uncomfortably in her seat and casts a glance at Lexa.

"Oh, honey," she says, reaching for Lexa's cheek. "That's so sad."

Lexa blinks and furrows her brow but doesn't move. "What?"

"She's a hooker."

"I'm a stripper," you correct. "Not an escort."

Costia hits you with the most patronizing look, as if to ask if there really is a difference, and you feel yourself become defensive.

Lexa flowers at her, pulling away from her lingering touch. You're ready to snap her fingers off her dainty little hand.

You look around the restaurant for the waiter, wanting the cheque, but unfortunately he's nowhere to be found, and you feel your anxiety start to creep up your neck next to these obviously successful and pretentious people.

You remind yourself that they're not Lexa.

"If I had known how sad you were that you'd pay a hooker to go on a date with you…" she continues.

"What?" Lexa spits, pulling back from her grasp.

"Oh, please, Lexa," she says. "You and I both know that you can do better than -" she drops her voice to a whisper, "- a hooker."

"I'm not a hooker," you snap.

Costia waves you off and takes Lexa's hand, which she immediately pulls back from. "I know that we ended on unfortunate terms, but your father and I both think that it's best if you came back. You're toiling away trying to do everything that you know is bad for you, and we're worried. If I had known you'd fall apart like this, I'd never have hurt you." She glances at you quickly. "You can do so much better. We can get you a therapist."

To be associated with a rebellious act of depression makes you sick.

But, would that really be so far from the truth?

Your heart tells you no, but your mind tells you it's possible. Sexual deviance is why you're employed.

You look at Lexa, desperate for her eyes to catch yours and quell your anxiety, but she's too busy glaring a hole into Costia's eyes, her jaw clenched tightly. "You sound just like him," she spits, gaze boring into her father's head. "I should have seen it sooner."

Your anxiety has already come up with fifteen reasons why Lexa would ever _settle_ for you by the time you excuse yourself from the table.

You hear your name being called as you hurry out of the restaurant, but you couldn't be bothered to turn around. 

You don't deserve someone like Lexa.

You hear the slapping of bare feet against the cement, but the sounds of your sobs drown them out.

You're trash.

You're so glad you didn't tell her you love her. You were a fool to think you belonged in the same life.

You were a fool to be so _vulnerable._

An hour later, when you're down to your pyjamas, eyes red from tears, there's knocking at your door. 

You called Raven when you got home, falling into the couch as you fell apart inside, your broken words and quiet sobs prompted her to invite herself over amidst your protests.

You wipe your tears with your hoodie - Lexa's hoodie, and fiddle with your watch before peeling yourself off the couch. The knock sounds again and you wonder why Raven hasn't just let herself in. 

Lexa stands on the other side of the door, still in her dress, shoes in one hand, and a takeout bag in the other.

"Lexa, what are you doing here?" You say, immediately looking away to hide your tears.

"Raven told me where you lived. I owe her fifty bucks and a joyride on my bike, but it's worth it."

Part of you wants to kill your best friend, and the other wants to hug her.

"This isn't going at all how it's supposed to," she says, and up close you can see the red rim of her eyes.

She's been crying.

You let out a sad laugh and nod. It definitely hasn't.

"You shouldn't be here," you say.

"Why not?" She asks, confounded by your reticence. You _were_ both on your way here, after all.

"Because I -" you look in her eyes, see the sadness shining back at you, and something inside you just… snaps. "Because - because - because look at me, Lexa! I'm a stripper! I'm a loser! I'm just a fucking useless slut who lost her dad when she was young and did this to retaliate!"

She starts shaking her head in protest, but you're too far gone to stop.

"I'm just a sad, broken, abused cliche. I'm _just_ a stripper. I'm just another sob story. I'm just… I'm just _worthless._ "

Lexa pushes past you into your apartment. She storms past the mountains of canvases and the sketches and the paint splattered walls and places the food on your countertop. She turns and marches right back to where you stand (because you haven't moved) and crowds into your space.

"You're a stripper," she agrees, and you feel your heart sink. 

"And you've lost your father. And you've been abused by someone you loved."

As she agrees with you, you feel every part of your heart shatter.

And then… 

"You're not broken - you make me feel whole. You're not a slut or a loser or worthless. You - you mean so much to _me._ And you're beautiful. And smart. And funny. And strong. And talented. And a survivor. And dedicated. And so, so caring."

Your heart beats rapidly against your chest, slamming into your ribs.

"And - and-," she takes a deep breath. 

Your eyes find hers.

"And, I love you."

You blink rapidly, not sure if you're imagining it.

"I love you, Clarke. I love who I am with you. I love who you are _all the time_ , even when you avoid me. I love _you._ " There isn't an ounce of uncertainty in her voice. 

Your breath catches in your throat, and all you can do is blink at her again. The silence stretches as she searches your face, and you struggle to remember how to breathe.

"Say something," she whispers, and there's an audible tremor to her words. Her hands start clenching at her sides repeatedly.

"I…" you trail off, the words stuck in your throat as your mind still tries to wade through the jumbling of the words in your head.

She swallows and drops her eyes to the floor, sad and embarrassed, and it's enough to pull you from your stupor.

"I love you, too." It comes out as a whisper.

Lexa looks up at you slowly, shocked by your profession. 

You laugh. "Jesus, Lexa, look around." You gesture to the room - to all the variations of green. Her eyes flit around, finally absorbing what she sees, her mouth dropping open as she takes it in. 

You guide her eyes back to yours with a gentle hand on her cheek. "I love you, too."


	13. Chapter 13 - Lexa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've taken my time with this because I just... I love this chapter. I hope you all do, too.
> 
> Lexa's POV from the night they said their "I love you"s
> 
> Just a few more chapters left in this story, hope you enjoy. HMU on Insta and Tumblr @ jordswriteswords 🙃

****

She avoids you.

For two weeks she hardly speaks to you.

You knew it was going to happen, but you can't help yourself from staying up until five in the morning every night thereafter, hoping that she'd ask you to meet her at the diner.

She doesn't, but you wait for her regardless.

You message her in the mornings, pretending you've been asleep all night and are greeting her as you greet the sun. You imagine her smile when she wakes, her golden hair highlighted in the morning rays.

Every time you open your eyes to empty sheets, the world remains dark.

You clutch at your mother's pendant, trying to remember the words when it feels like Clarke will never return.

_ 'someone who fits you' _

You know in your heart that Clarke does.

So, you wait.

And then…

She's standing in front of your door. 

You watch her through the peephole as she wrings her hands, tugs on her watch, and clutches at her hair, unable to decide whether to come or go.

"Clarke."

She gasps in a breath, staring at you with shock and fear, and  _ hope  _ in her eyes. 

You smirk when she says "hi," looking as nervous and confused and adorable as ever. 

You nearly forget yourself in her eyes, and finally move aside so she can enter.

She startles you when she comes back to kiss you hello, a sigh of relief rushing past your lips when she retreats.

You watch her as she moves about your apartment with familiarity, seeing the traces of light illuminating everything she touches. Bringing colour back into your world. She fits just like everything else in your place. She makes it feel like a home.

"I missed you," she says when she catches your stare.

Your heart leaps into your throat. Your words can't make it out when you feel so overwhelmed by her presence.

You're also terrified you'll wake up from this dream.

"I missed you," she repeats, closer to you, open to you, wanting you to know she's sincere. Her fingers twirl through your hair, the only tether to reality that takes hold of your heart.

_ 'I love you' _ is at the tip of your tongue, so you bite down, unable to voice the words - not tonight. 

You have so many questions. You want to ask her to stay tonight; to stay forever; to stop running, but you can't and you won't because you won't force her to do anything. You'll be okay until she's ready.

"Can we go to bed?" She asks, and the tension in your shoulders immediately disappears, your body slackening with the promise of sleep and her staying.

You're amazed by how beautiful she is in the moonlight. The way her hair almost glows. The sight of her overwhelms you, the  _ 'i love you'  _ bubbling and burning your tongue, so you close your eyes and settle into the soft embrace of her, the soft smell of her, the softness of the moment and you start to lose your battle with consciousness. 

It's been two weeks since you've slept properly, and you know it has everything to do with the blonde beside you.

Your kiss is soft - it's special - accepting of her demons, of her as she is and the battle she still faces, and promising that you'll be right in her corner. It's accepting that she's opening up, and welcoming her to be just how she is. 

You don't want her to worry.

You just want  _ her. _

"I missed you, too." 

***

You're both softer than ever. There's lots of chaste kisses and long embraces.

She craves your touch.

She craves reassurance.

You don't badger her about what happened, because you already know. You knew since her hand connected with your cheek. You don't need to ask her why or make her feel bad about it.

So, you don't.

"Will you teach me self-defense?" She whispers as you're barely lucid the next day.

Your heart thumps lazily in your chest at her olive branch.

You know it will only get better from here.

You kiss her heart, so very much in love and willing to do anything to protect that heart of hers. "I protect," is all you can get out before you're again pulled under by your exhaustion.

The next time you're awake and she tells you she feels safe. 

You nearly cry, you're so relieved to know that for the first time in your life, you're doing it right.

***

Her hands shake when she undresses you for the first time since the incident.

You stop them from continuing. "You're okay. No rush."

Her chin trembles and she forces a laugh. "If you're too tired, you can just say so, dork."

You kiss her forehead and pull her down to the mattress, covering yourselves with the comforter and tangling your legs together.

She smiles (gratefully, you know), closing her eyes and forcing a yawn when you trace her back with soft fingertips. She tucks her face into your neck, and you ignore her tears that river along down your collarbone.

You whisper how much you love her well after she's fallen asleep.

You fall into bed with one another nightly thereafter, wrapped in one another and sharing your space. You kiss and you hold hands and you fit together like a puzzle.

She makes you eggs.

You take her photo as much as you possibly can, trying to capture her very essence on film.

You both make each other smile.

You fall so helplessly in love and it strikes you that you have no idea when exactly it was that you fell for her.

She looks over her shoulder while she dances around your living room and you realize that it was, and is, in every single moment.

***

"Anya, I don't know how to tell her."

"Well, it usually starts by opening your mouth."

"Fuck off. I just mean," you sigh and scratch your scalp, "I don't know  _ how _ to tell her."

"It doesn't matter  _ how _ , it matters that you  _ do _ ."

"Ugh, when did you get so fucking wise?"

Anya shrugs. "Always have been."

***

Clarke fidgets nervously one night, playing with the straps of her watch and tapping her foot incessantly. When she isn't fidgeting, she's chewing on her pencil and sighing, garnering your attention rather quickly. Something is obviously bothering her.

"Clarke? What's wrong?" You ask. You let your hand trace the nape of her neck, trying to subtly reassure her.

"What? Nothing! Why would you think something's wrong?"

"You've been fidgeting, and you've nearly chewed a hole through that pencil."

She sighs and drops the pencil onto the coffee table. She turns and crosses her legs underneath herself on the couch, and stares intently at you. You sit up, crossing your own legs on the seat to face her as well.

"Come to my apartment."

"Okay," you oblige. You're not stupid - you know how important it is for her to offer her safe space to you.

"What - you - you don't want to know why?"

You shrug. "I want to see it."

Exasperated, she argues, "But, what if I'm a serial killer and I'm going to kill you in it?"

"Then you would have just given away your plan." You smile.

Her mouth falls open to retort, but she clamps it shut.

"I want to see it, Clarke," you say. You shrug and turn your head back to the television, signalling the conversation being as nonchalant as it  _ should  _ be.

She smiles timidly, then launches herself across the couch and into your awaiting arms, ready to relax in your embrace.

***

You've been ruminating on how to tell her for the past week. You keep finding the words on the tip of your tongue, but your anxiety has crippled you. You want to get it right so badly that you've managed to petrify yourself.

You have a spark of courage halfway to her apartment, pulling the blonde into a boutique. You know there's a fancy restaurant a little further up the road and you decide that you can't wait anymore, determined to tell her you love her tonight. If she's willing to let you in to her safe space, you should tell her how you feel.

Neither of you ask if it's a date because you both already know that it is.

She looks gorgeous in the dim light of the restaurant, her hair falling just below her chin in loose waves. She's so effortlessly beautiful. She really is the only thing good about the restaurant you're currently in. The place reminds you of your past - of Costia and her pretentious judgement, but Clarke's presence in this establishment makes you see it in a new light.

She questions why you're here, an almost knowing grin on her face, but you want to at least make it through dinner before you scare her away with your profession of love. "You deserve a nice date."

She twists her mouth to the side as her eyes skirt along the pristine walls, the chandeliers, the violinist playing on the stage. "This place is very…"

You raise your brows, prompting her to be honest.

"...not me."

You actually laugh, relieved that Clarke is light and airy and happiness and freedom. She isn't wowed by pretentious things. 

She's no Costia.

You decide then and there to tell her how perfect she is and how much you love her.

But, the voice that you prayed to God you'd never hear again is calling your name and pierces the bubble in which both you and Clarke reside. Ice crawls down your spine as Costia says your name with the same fake enthusiasm she would greet your family.

You squeeze Clarke's hand and let go, letting her know that you're hers, and trying to show her that you'll always protect her with your body language - tense shoulders, arms folded against the intruder.

Costia ignores your crossed arms and your glare, inviting herself to sit down even as you protest.

She never did listen to you.

Costia's eyes spend too long observing Clarke. Judging her, figuring out how she can make her uncomfortable. The only thing stopping this from turning into a bloodbath is that Costia only ever cares about keeping up appearances.

You bite your tongue and try to think of a way to gracefully bow out of her presence. You don't want to subject Clarke to Costia's hostility and manipulation. You definitely don't want to subject yourself to it.

You're trying to gather your thoughts when she reaches for your shoulder. You move so that her touch can't linger, the graze of her fingers making you feel nauseous. Her eyes catch yours, and you know it's just a ploy to work you or Clarke (or both of you) up.

You glance at the blonde and your heart drops when you see her looking away. Clarke doesn't know it's all just a game to your ex. 

Your knee bounces uncomfortably to control the sharp pangs in your stomach. You feel the walls start to close in on you because you're caught exactly where Costia wants you.

You're kind of pathetic.

But as you're speaking, trying to find the words to tell her to leave, Costia starts smiling at something over your shoulder, and then you hear your father's voice.

The ice in your spine radiates throughout you, another sharp pang in your stomach.

You are incapable of stifling the groan that you let out. All you can do is chug your wine in hopes of numbing the inadequacy you feel and hurrying this exchange along. 

This isn't going to plan.

You exchange a terse greeting with your father, and he and Costia go on blabbing as though you're all friends. 

And then… your father sits, welcoming himself to your table, and you snap. "Hang on, why are you here?" You blurt out, rage and wine bubbling in your blood at their arrogance.

Why would they ever feel compelled to join you? 

Costia says she's going to invest in the company, and your mind starts to spin.

Why? Where did she get the money? What does she gain out of that? Why would Titus let your  _ ex-girlfriend _ join the company if he was adamant that you come back? Doesn't he know that you would never work with her? What does he stand to gain? What do they both... 

Costia purposely mispronounces Clarke's name, and your spiraling thoughts come to a screeching halt.

"This is my girlfriend, Clarke ," you snap. "No, she doesn't work for me. Please, Costia, the only person sleeping with my employees was you." You don't bother to tamp down the venom that you spit, frustrated with the way things are going.

"Now, now, water under the bridge," your father says, and you let your mind imagine drowning him in that water. It's refreshing.

You slump back into the chair, overwhelmed by their presence. You just want to tell Clarke you love her, and it's completely ruined. Your father and Costia ruin  _ everything _ .

You wonder how they even spotted you in the restaurant. You ruminate on Costia's sudden interest in investing in the company, and you drink almost an entire glass of wine while you think.

You think and think and think.

Costia asks Clarke what she does, and when your girlfriend looks to you for reassurance, you shrug. It doesn't matter what Clarke does. You actually think that the happiness she feels from what she does is something to be proud of.

Your father is brazenly judgemental, but Costia's interest is piqued. Her eyes roam down Clarke's figure, a flash of insecurity in her brown eyes. 

It feels good to know that you're with the most beautiful girl in the room. 

"Oh, you're like a teacher?" Costia asks.

Clarke sends a heated glare at you and you feel it directly in your crotch. Clarke has taught you so many new things about love and life and happiness, and even more about desire. 

All you can do is squeeze your thighs together in a useless attempt to get some relief and take a sip of your drink.

"Do you choreograph routines?"

"Yup," you answer, reminiscing on the countless times she's used you to practice a new move that inevitably lead to another orgasm. "She's quite good at it, too." 

Technique comes up, and you think of the time she so effortlessly had you coming on her tongue in eleven seconds flat. Your legs wouldn't stop shaking for a full twenty-four hours.

Yeah, she has great technique.

You wipe the corner of your mouth with your napkin, sure you've drooled at the memory.

Clarke catches your eye and you know she remembers it, too.

You can't stop your shoulders from shaking when Clarke discloses the type of dance she does, the looks on both Costia and your father's face well worth their tortuous company.

Costia reaches for your face while you're laughing, catching you off guard. "That's so sad."

"What?" You ask, nearly snapping your neck in the process of getting away from her.

"She's a hooker...If I had known how sad you were that you'd pay a hooker to go on a date with you…" 

" _ What _ ?!" You spit. Your hands clench into fists on your lap, shaking with rage. Your ears ring at the insult.

"Oh, please, Lexa," she says. "You and I both know that you can do better than -" she drops her voice to a whisper as though it's somehow less offensive to the blonde, "- a hooker." She reaches for your hand, but you snap your fingers away from her, and have to force yourself to stop them from slapping Costia across the face. You are well aware that Costia would love an opportunity to sue you and make a little money...

Your father watches you with a smug expression. 

"I know that we ended on unfortunate terms, but your father and I both think that it's best if you came back. You're toiling away trying to do everything that you know is bad for you, and we're worried. If I had known you'd fall apart like this, I'd never have hurt you. You can do so much better. We can get you a therapist."

Everything suddenly finally slides into place with her brazen statement, like a puzzle needing all the pieces to come together to show you the picture.

You chuckle. "You sound just like him. I should have seen it sooner."

You're so angry you're shaking.

You realize with a painful clarity that this has been a joint effort. Your entire relationship with her. Her constant encouraging to work harder, work longer. Her animosity towards you spending time with your family. 

Her waiting until the anniversary of your mom's death to try to get you back.

You can barely breathe with the adrenaline coursing through you, and it's only Clarke excusing herself from the table that has you gasping for breath, because you're gasping out her name.

"Clarke!" You yell, standing from the seat and watching her hurry past the tables to the exit.

You chase after her, but your heels are too high and you wobble through the tables. You lose your footing more than once, nearly crashing into the tables you pass. You take your heels off and continue after her barefoot, calling out her name, but she disappears into a cab before you can catch her.

"Fuck!" You yell out to no one. You turn about face and storm back into the restaurant. You don't want to - you'd rather sell your organs than deal with your father and Costia ever again, but they hurt Clarke, and you're so  _ done _ with letting them think they are, in any way, welcome in your life.

Your feet slap against the wood floors, your nostrils flare out with each rushed breath. The people around the restaurant stare, but you don't care. They don't matter.

You don't care because they're not Clarke.

"Oh, thank God, I thought she'd never leave," Costia says upon your arrival. "Garcon, bring us more wine. Lexa - Lexa, sit down, people are starting to stare."

She reaches for your hand, but you rip it away violently, nearly sending her toppling to the floor.

Costia rolls her eyes, adjusts herself in her chair and primps her hair. "Fine, be a brat. You can stand for all I care."

You snarl at her.

The waiter appears with his impeccable timing, asking if you're ready to order and being idiotically oblivious to the atmosphere.

"Sure," you say with a menacing smile at the dufus. You send a glare at your ex and your father. "The dickhead is going to have the steak, well-done. Make it black, like his heart; and the cunt will have the same, but rare - that way she can suck the life out of it like the vampire she is."

"Well, I've never -" Costia starts to say, but you're quick to cut her off. 

"Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth, I'm so  _ sick  _ of hearing your voice. I  _ left you _ Costia. I want  _ nothing _ to do with you. At all. Ever. Dating you was a mistake, but it's helped me figure out what I want. And it's  _ not you  _ and your pretentious, self-absorbed, and quite frankly, psychopathic thoughts."

"Lexa!" your father interjects. His eyes flit around the room to the rest of the patrons of the restaurant.

The waiter stares at you, his eyes wide with shock and pen hanging just above his notepad. "Should I go…"

"Yes." You snap. Inside, you're rolling your eyes at his idiocy. Outside, you're panting with the anger that threatens to overtake you.

A few conversations die down around you, the restaurant becoming starkly silent at your outburst.

You don't give a flying fuck.

"Lexa," your father scolds. He grabs your wrist, but you break the hold and squeeze down painfully on his arm, watching him since at the feeling.

"I hate the fact that you're my father. I hate everything to do with you. You're a judgemental piece of shit that had to pay someone to have your child because you're such a disgusting human being no one would ever love. I swear to fucking God, if you ever come near me or my girlfriend again, I will make you regret the day."

You can see the tremor in his hands before you violently throw his arm back towards him. He rubs his wrist with his free hand, not looking at you when he says, "I still own half the company. I still own  _ you."  _ His voice trembles when he speaks, but the words ignite the anger you've been trying to stifle.

You smile, and it scares him. 

You see it in his eyes. You see the moment he realizes that you have, indeed, finally figured it out.

It makes you feel  _ good _ to see him so scared.

You slam your hand down on the table so hard that the glasses shake. "You don't fucking  _ own _ me. You don't own  _ anything. _ I've been thinking about why you've been so obsessed with me leading the company. Why I ended up with Costia. Why you actually  _ liked _ her as my girlfriend when she was just as greedy as you. And then it hit me. How much is he paying you, Costia?"

Costia's face pales.

"How much did he pay you to pretend to fall for me? To pretend to care about me? To keep me working until I turned into him and abandoned my mother and my sisters?"

She gapes.

"How much?!"

"Fifty thousand."

"Fifty..." you laugh. "Jesus Christ. You couldn't keep it in your pants for fifty thousand?! I didn't get to say goodbye to my mother because of you!" You yell.

You grasp the bridge of your nose with your forefinger and your thumb, then let out a sad laugh. "It doesn't matter anyway. O and I both signed over our shares to Anya last month, but you've been so  _ obsessed _ with me, somehow convinced that I was destined to be  _ just like you _ , you haven't noticed that Anya has been doing a lot of groundwork on turning the company into a non-profit."

"She can't!" Titus bellows.

"Oh, but she can. See, that's the thing about having a board - just because you own half the company doesn't mean anything when the other half wants to go in a different direction. It all comes down to a vote."

Titus' face pales before he turns bright red in his anger.

Costia lets out a whine.

"You tried so hard to divide me from my family. All you did was push us closer together. Mom's death just made it even more so."

"You can't do this!" Titus yells, standing from the seat to be nose-to-nose with you.

You just smirk. "It's already done. The board is expecting you to hand in your resignation. You don't  _ own _ me. You never fucking did. And now you own  _ nothing _ ."

He collapses back into his chair, his hands rubbing down his face as he processes that he just lost everything.

You give one last disdainful look to your ex girlfriend. "If you're still looking to  _ invest _ , I'm sure Anya would love to take a donation towards the addictions centre she's opening next year."

She gapes like a fish, and your smile just widens. Your eyes flit between the two parasites, and you laugh and shake your head. "You two deserve each other." You grab your purse and throw a few hundred dollar bills on the table. "Enjoy your meals."

***

When you exit the restaurant, your heart is racing with adrenaline.

You want to fist pump into the air in excitement for finally telling your father where to go. And,  _ God _ , the look on Costia's face.

But, more importantly than anything that has to do with them, you want to get to Clarke.

_ "What up Lady Woods?" _ Raven laughs at the innuendo when she answers your call.

"Raven, hey," you pant, breaths short from your excitement as you hustle down the street, "listen, I need your help."

_ "What's wrong?" _ Her voice suddenly serious.  _ "Where's Clarke? Is she okay?" _

You can hear your sister asking questions in the background, starting to panic on your behalf.

"Clarke's - she's -,"

_ "What did you  _ do _?" _ Raven asks, then groans.  _ "You two  _ just _ figured it out." _

"I know I - listen, it's a long story, but I need you to tell me where she lives."

She sighs and is quiet for a long time. _ "I guess this has to do with the shitstorm dinner." _

"How did you -"

_ "Clarke messaged me." _

You sigh. "It won't be that long of a story after all. She left, upset, Costia's a bitch. Titus is Titus. I need to see Clarke."

_ "Maybe she doesn't want to see you, you ever think of that, Woods?" _

"Yeah, I wouldn't blame her."

_ "It's not nearly as fun to play the protective best friend if you're going to be so self-deprecating, Woods." _

"Does she really not want to see me?" You ask, knowing that Raven would already know.

_ "Don't be daft. Of course she does. She's hurting because she loves - you know what? I don't wanna be involved in this!" _

You're  _ positive  _ Raven almost said that Clarke loves you, too, and you try to tamp down the excitement. "Raven, I love her. I need her to know that. I need to tell her that, that's why I want her address. I can't hold it in anymore."

_ "Ah, fuck," _ Raven says.  _ "Fucking Sap."  _ She groans. " _ You're making it difficult to stay out of this." _

"I'll give you fifty bucks," you rush out.

She hums, and you can imagine her tapping her chin in thought.  _ "I want a ride on your motorcycle." _

You groan. "Fine, I'll take you for a ride -,"

_ "No, no, Lady Woods. I want to take it for a ride  _ myself _." _

You clench your eyes and breathe a sigh through your nose. "Fine," you grit out.

Raven laughs again and lists off Clarke's address. 

Half a block later, your heel snaps, and you nearly break your ankle trying to stop yourself from falling.

"Motherfuck! Why? Why is this so difficult right now?" You take off your shoes and carry on, determined to get to the love of your life, even while tears pour down your face because this isn't how it's supposed to be.

It's not supposed to be so hard.

You feel like you've been through the wringer, that maybe it's a sign that this isn't right. Maybe these are all red flags.

Love is supposed to be easy, isn't it? 

Your mom loved you and fought for your happiness every step of the way. Fought for your family. Fought for  _ you _ . Even when she died, she fought for you.

All your bravado and adrenaline is sucked out of your system as you stare at the white door in front of you knowing that Clarke is on the other side.

You knock anyways.

Because your mother has taught you that love is something you fight for.

Clarke opens it, so  _ sad  _ that you nearly tell her you love her right then and there just to see if it'll make her smile.

When she recognizes that it's you, she blurts out, "What are you doing here?"

"Raven told me where you lived," you admit. "I owe her fifty bucks and a joyride on my bike, but it's worth it."

Your heart flutters at the tiny quirk to her lips. 

There's a flash of panic in your eyes when you see the tear tracks down her cheeks. "This isn't going at all how it's supposed to," you mumble. She laughs a sad laugh and your stomach lurches.

"Why not?" You ask. There's an obvious tremble to your voice as your anxiety convinces you that you're not supposed to be here because Clarke doesn't  _ want _ you here. That you aren't welcome in her safe space.

"Because I -" she shrinks in on herself, and you want to reach for her, tell her it's okay, console her even if what she says breaks your heart.

A tear escapes her eye, her hands wringing together as she builds the courage to speak. She looks at you with fear, anger, frustration, and a broken heart. 

You wait, turning your bottom lip raw with your teeth. You bite down so hard you're sure you taste blood. 

"Because - because - because look at me, Lexa! I'm a stripper! I'm a loser! I'm just a fucking useless slut who lost her dad when she was young and did this to retaliate!" She explodes.

Your heart shatters for the girl in front of you, flabbergasted by the way she perceives herself, because you find her  _ extraordinary _ .

"I'm just a sad, broken, abused cliche. I'm just a stripper. I'm just another sob story. I'm just… I'm just  _ worthless _ ," she continues.

Shaking your head, you barrel past her into her apartment, needing your hands free so you can properly explain the X's and O's about why that statement is preposterous. You'll draw her a fucking chart if you have to.

"You are a stripper," you admit, trying to recall the other blasphemous words she said, but struggling because your brain has never been able to come up with those words when you think about Clarke. You chew on your lip, your own frustration coming to a head. You catalogue each insult in your mind, the things Clarke feels in her darkest hours so you can always be sure to remind her of who she  _ really _ is. 

"And, yes, you lost your father. And you've been  _ abused  _ by someone you love." 

The word 'love' sticks in your throat like peanut butter.

You need to tell her. She needs to know.

You get angry at everyone who ever made her feel anything other than perfect. You become furious with every naysayer and every tormentor that convinced this beautiful, special, amazing free-spirit that she was anything less than perfect.

You can't stop your ramble once it starts. "You're not broken - you make me feel whole. You're not a slut or a loser or worthless. You - you mean so much to me. And you're beautiful. And smart. And funny. And strong. And talented. And a survivor. And dedicated. And so, so caring."

Your hands start to shake, and you've rushed through everything else to get to this point - these words - but, you find yourself stuttering, because this is so,  _ so  _ important. 

Love is so,  _ so  _ important. It can change the world.

That's why it's worth fighting for.

"And - and-," you take a breath deep into your chest, holding it inside of your lungs.

Her eyes meet yours, the sad pools of blue looking like a vortex of pain, and you exhale, a calm confidence washing over you because  _ you love her _ and she needs to know that.

"And, I love you."

She lets out a tiny gasp.

You can't help the smile from widening on your face after you say the words. "I love you, Clarke. I love who I am with you. I love who you are all the time, even when you avoid me. I just - I - I love  _ you _ ."

She blinks.

And blinks.

And blinks again.

And then… nothing.

Your heart hammers in your chest, loud enough to be heard in the silence of the room as you stop breathing in anticipation of her response.

"I…" she stops. Her eyes dance along your face, her mouth opening and closing many times with no sound coming out.

You suddenly feel like you're drowning, the cold wave of anxiety pulling you under. "Say something." 

Maybe you got it all wrong. Your ears are so stuffed that you can't even hear your own voice. But, you hear her when she whispers, "I love you, too."

It hits you like the first breath of air after being underwater, the life raft that saves you from being consumed by the tide. It invigorates you from head to toe. You can't hide the shock on your face. You were hoping she'd feel the same, but somehow, you're still shocked by it.

She laughs, amazed at your obliviousness. "Jesus, Lexa, look around."

And then you finally take in the room.

Your face. Your eyes. Your features. Your body.

It's  _ everywhere _ .

And it's  _ beautiful. _

She cups your jaw and pulls you back to her, and you turn willingly, happy to look at the most beautiful thing in the room even amongst the art. 

"I love you, too."

***

She finally takes you on a tour of her apartment, nervous hands fidgeting as she talks about her inspiration - you - for each painting.

"You looked so free here, like there was nothing that could be done to upset you. And this one, you looked at me with so much…"

"Love?" You supply. "Because, that's what it was."

She smiles at you, her cheeks red and eyes wide. It's childlike, the way she's surprised by your affection. Her hands fall to twisting her watch around her wrist, her nervous habit. "Charmer."

You stand quietly at the easel in her art room, looking at one of her latest works.

It's dark - black and white - the opposite of the vibrant pieces everywhere else in the apartment.

Your face is at the centre of the canvas, covered in what looks to be a black kohl around the eyes. 

Your eyes - the only colour in the entire work - a green so vibrant that you know only comes after you cry. 

The kohl is smudged around your cheeks, trails of tears leaving streaks of kohl down your face as you look at the viewer.

Your mouth is set in a firm line, giving an air of stoicism to the hauntingly sad painting.

You look so… sad. Strong, but sad.

"I knew I was hurting you. I knew you were trying to cover up how you felt - that's the kohl. But even through the mask, I knew you were hurting - hence the tear streaks. You're amazing, Lexa. You're so patient with me, and sometimes I don't know if I deserve it. I couldn't bare to look at you - feeling so guilty with what I did, and then knowing how much I hurt you, I -"

"I love you. All of you. Remember?" You say, cupping her cheeks and brushing the tears away with your thumbs. "I love you, and I'll still love you as you work through this. I'll be right here for you when and how you need me. Always."

"I'm sorry I ran away. Twice."

"I'm not." You give her a wide smile, eager to tell her about what transpired in the time that she left the restaurant.

You regale her with the story and she kisses you hard on the lips. "You're so hot when you stand up for yourself."

You continue with the tour, not able to imagine what the place would look like if it weren't covered in  _ your face _ , but enjoying the way she rambles on about the textures and the palettes and the whosits and whatsits of art.

You're completely lost in the colours and the complexities along with the rasp of her voice.

She ends in her bedroom, her hands fidgeting on the door frame.

"I can sleep on the couch," you offer.

She rolls her eyes. "I just told you I loved you, and you want to sleep on the couch?"

You open your mouth to protest, but she surges forward and kisses you, pulling you inside her room after opening the door.

It's very large and very empty.

There's a single bed in the middle of the room on wood pallets. White comforters, white pillows, white walls.

And nothing else.

It's odd in the colourful apartment.

"It's so starkly bare in here," you note.

Clarke laughs. "Escape from the chaos." She eyes you nervously, taking a seat on the edge of her mattress. You follow and sit elegantly on the white duvet, letting your hands graze the softness of your dress as it falls over your knees.

"Your work really is amazing, Clarke."

"You're biased." She lies down on the covers, her hands underneath her head when she turns to look at you.

You follow, turned on your side to watch her. "I'm not. I'm extra not because it's my own face, so I'm more inclined to  _ not  _ like it."

"You're biased because you want to get into my pants." Her cheeky smile shifts to a nervous biting of her bottom lip almost immediately. 

Her mind whirs as it overthinks.

You reach across the distance, letting your hand caress her face, down her cheek to her jaw, and further down her neck. Her eyes flutter at the contact, and you lean forward just far enough to kiss her lips. "I love you," you whisper. "Can we go to bed?"

With her eyes still closed, she smiles, reminiscing on the time she mended the gap between you with the same words.

"I love you, too," she says. She shuffles closer and kisses you again. It's warm, and sweet, and everything you love about her.

She kisses you softly for a long while, warm hands resting gently on your hip. 

You smile into nearly every kiss, so happy to be here with the woman you love.

She moves her hand slowly, almost as if trying to sneak her way up to your shoulder, and then slides her fingers underneath the fabric of your dress. It's hesitant when she pushes the material down, but you don't react, just continuing to kiss her back when she breathes a sigh against your lips when the material falls away.

Because,  _ it's okay, I love you _ .

You shuffle closer to her, pressing your thighs against hers, and letting her set the pace. 

She leans back and watches the way the material moves down your skin until it's resting on your bicep. You sit back up on the end of the mattress.

Clarke follows, but shifts on her knees to behind you.

She pushes the other strap down, and the material falls down to your other elbow. 

She rests her hands on your arms to stop you when you try to remove the dress. She pushes your hair over one shoulder and kisses the other shoulder, a shaky breath escaping when she sighs. "I love the way your skin smells," she whispers, pressing another kiss to your skin.

"I love how sensitive you are right here." She nuzzles her nose into your neck, and the hot breath hits the right spot, and your entire torso erupts with goosebumps.

"Clarke," you whisper.

"Shhh," she responds. She kisses along your neck.

Your heart rate picks up and you smile into the darkness as she caresses you lightly with her lips and fingers. She tugs lightly on the straps of your dress until the material falls, leaving your chest bare.

She just sits behind you, letting her fingers trace the outline of your tattoos. 

You don't know what to say in this moment of quiet, and you pinch the material of your dress in your fingers to calm your suddenly racing heart.

"I love the way you pull at the hem of your clothes when you're nervous," she says.

You immediately stop doing exactly that.

She laughs, and you can hear her shuffling, so you glance back over your shoulder to see her removing her hoodie. You share a soft smile as she wraps her arms around your waist and kisses the top of your shoulder again. Her chin rests there, then she frees your arms from the dress, and slowly, teasingly traces up your stomach with her fingertips. You know she's watching the way your nipples harden with her delicate touch.

"I love you," she murmurs softly in your ear "Is it okay - do you - can we -," she sighs.

"I love you," you respond. You turn your head just enough to kiss her. When you pull back and see the pretty blue staring at you full of trepidation, you turn just a bit more to cup her cheek. "I love you, Clarke."

She holds your hand against her cheek and sighs into the kiss. "I love the way you touch me - always so gentle and so kind."

You kiss her again before standing from the bed.

You watch her when you let the rest of the dress fall to the floor - the way her eyes dilate and roam your body from head to toe; the way her mouth falls open as she scrambles for what to say; the way her hands clench the comforter underneath her; the way she rocks back on the mattress to invite you to her.

She shifts back to the middle of the mattress and you join her, kissing her as you crawl over her body - only to be immediately flipped onto your back.

You let out a small laugh at her dominance. She lets her hands wander your skin, let's her lips and tongue lick and suck and leave her mark.

Her hands accidentally hit the spot under your ribs that make you jump, unable to stifle the laugh and the squirming that it always elicits.

"I love the way you laugh. And the way you smirk," she adds when you do, in fact, smirk at her.

Your cheeks flame at the unbidden amount of love in her eyes. You're not used to seeing so much affection.

"I love the way you blush whenever I catch you staring at me."

"I love the way you always wake me up with kisses," she whispers, kissing your nose. She pushes the hair that's fallen into your eyes back behind your ear and adds, "I love the way your hair never stays in your braids."

"Clarke," you whisper, your hand moving down her body, tracing the spot on her hip bone that makes her wet. 

You search her eyes for permission.

She smiles. "Always so giving. I love the way you always think about my needs, but tonight's about you, and how much I love you, Lexa Woods."

"You don't have to -"

She presses her lips against yours, effectively silencing you from continuing. "I love the way you listen."

You roll your eyes and kiss her again, just because you can, and she drags her blunt nails down your abdomen and along the tops of your thighs.

When she gets to the apex of your thighs, she traces your folds through your underwear, and you gasp. "I love the tiny sound you make when I touch just the right spot."

You whimper a pleading sound, and she pushes the material aside to dip her finger inside. Clarke kisses you stronger, hungrier, her fingers stroking through your folds to gather your wetness. She hums happily in your mouth at just how easily she coats her fingers. "I love how wet you get for me."

You buck into her, searching for more friction and wanting her fingers inside you. You pull the corners of your panties down with your thumbs, giving yourself over to the blonde completely.

She hums happily, her eyebrow quirking in satisfaction when she sticks her fingers in her mouth.

You taste yourself on her lips, letting out a low groan when she whispers, "I love the way you taste," against your mouth.

Her hair falls into your face, and you push it back and tangle your hands in it to stop it from falling again. 

"I love the way you hold me," she murmurs as she strokes you so softly, so gently, a finger on either side of your clit as she runs up and down your cunt.

She finally slips inside you, her fingers pushing achingly slowly until they hit the deepest parts of you. "So tight and warm," she adds, and you let out a long, happy groan.

She smiles down at you. "I love the way you can find the smallest things beautiful," she whispers, her fingers pumping in and out of you slowly. Your hips thrust up into her at the same pace, seeing stars when she hits the deeper parts of you.

Her voice cracks when she says, "I love the way you look at the world," and her eyes shimmer.

You kiss her, hard, your hands leaving her hair to pull her closer to you. Your fingers scratch along her back, desperate to hold on to the girl you love.

"I love the way you are," she says, starting to pick up a steadier rhythm, slow, but harder, still trying to hit the deep parts inside you. 

The stars turn to flashes of light. Your breath starts to catch. Her forehead presses against yours and she whispers encouragement.

"I love the way you look at me," she says, removing her forehead from yours. 

You force your eyes open to stare up at the beautiful blue above you, so full of lust and desire and  _ love  _ as they stare down at you.

The only sound in the room is your laboured breathing and the sound of Clarke pushing you closer to the edge with each stroke.

She picks up her rhythm just enough for you to gasp in a deep breath.

"I love the way you love me." She pushes you right over the edge with a perfect thrust, and you come harder than you've ever come in your entire life, your eyes spotting black when your head falls, and your back arching off the mattress.

Clarke continues to pump through your orgasm as you silently scream above. Your hands dig into the strong muscles of her back, your legs clenching around her hand. Her free hand hugs you closer, her lips by your ear telling you how much she loves you as your vision starts to darken from the lack of oxygen. 

"I love you," is the first thing you manage to breathe out when the orgasm finally subsides and you're able to suck in a breath of air. 

Clarke smiles down at you, satisfied with herself, and you repeat, "I love you," as you struggle to catch your breath.

She slips out of you, marvels at the wetness in her palm before licking her fingers clean.

You press needy kisses to her smiling lips. "I love you, I love you, I love you," you repeat over and over until she giggles and buries her head in your neck.

The rest of the night is spent tangled in one another, barely an inch of space between your bodies, and proclaiming your love to the gods above.

 


	14. Chapter 14 - Clarke

With a grumpy huff, she grabs your watch to check the time, scrunching her brows when her mind can’t make sense of the time.

“It doesn’t work,” you say softly.

Lexa shrieks and drops the watch, clutching her chest in fright. “Clarke,” she whispers, “I thought you were still sleeping.”

You wince, your hands coming up to cover your ears at her shrill yell. “Well after that, I sure as hell wouldn’t be. You nearly broke my eardrum.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, pressing kisses to your ear. “I was just trying to see what time it was. Why do you wear a watch that doesn't even work?”

“It was my dads. He wore it all the time.”

“Have you ever tried to fix it?”

You shake your head.

Lexa hums and turns the watch over in her hands a few times before setting it back on the side table with more care than someone should give to a broken watch.

You roll onto your side and snuggle into her awaiting arms. You sigh in contentedness. "Will you teach me today?"

***

Lexa warns you that the dojo is overwhelming to new people - the sounds of grunting and loud rock music mixed with the scent of sweat and blood assaulting when you enter.

You laugh at the warning, reminding your girlfriend that you work in the sleaziest of places, and the if the smell of bodily fluids hasn’t put you off yet, nothing will scare you.

You lied.

You hear the screaming rock music in the parking lot, and the sounds of weights repeatedly crashing to the floor that send vibrations through your shoes. It unsettles you, but you carry on with the false bravado you made your living with.

And then you enter the place and all eyes turn your way.

All eyes of people who are larger than life. Their muscles pop, and their legs look like actual tree trunks being swung at one another.

You’re about to turn and run, but you end up slamming into the chest of a giant, dark skinned man with a shaved head. His hands are surprisingly gentle as they stop you from falling backwards.

He doesn’t say anything to you, adjusting the strap of your shoulder bag for you and dusting off some chalk that his hands transferred to your clothes. Hi gives you a once over, his brown eyes kind in their solemnity.

“Hey Lincoln,” Lexa says to the man. “This is my girlfriend, Clarke. We’re going to be working on self-defense today, if you don’t mind getting the equipment ready.”

“Heda,” he says with a nod before turning to leave.

“What the heck was that?” you ask, confused by the weird nickname and the even weirder behaviour of the giant man. 

Lexa just laughs as her cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Let's go change.”

“No, no, no way! You need to tell me now, Lex.”

Your girlfriend sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. “I might have, maybe, got hit in the head so hard one time that I confused the word head with heda. It’s stuck ever since.”

You let out a peal of laughter and press a kiss to Lexa’s cheek. “I prefer calling you commander, babe.”

Her cheeks dust an even darker red, and she rolls her eyes, pulling you towards the changeroom so you can get started with your session.

After you change, you pass by a large cage where two giant behemoths are trying to hug each other to death. One picks up the other and slams him down on the mat and the sound is so loud that you actually jump. Lexa laughs at you and lets her hand rest on your lower back, a small reminder of your safety with her. She guides you over to an empty corner with a free punching bag. "We'll be good here. No one will come over."

"You just don’t want anyone to see me kick your ass,  _ Heda _ ," you tease.

Lexa slaps your hands playfully. You start jumping around, bobbing and weaving nothing in particular.

Lexa just watches you, her eyes warm and soft and everything that you love about her.

“You’re not teaching me,” you say, punching her shoulder lightly. 

“I’m admiring your form,” she responds. “Keep warming up.”

“You can admire it all you want when we’re alone,” you laugh. “If you’re just going to stand there, tell me more about you getting your head whacked.”

Lexa’s cheeks dust pink, which you distractedly smile at, still punching the air. 

“I was sparring with Aden and let my guard drop. He clocked me.”

“Aden Trikru? Like, the MMA guy? The Babyface Killer?”

Lexa laughs. “The one and only.”

“I thought you said you did this for fun?” You exclaim. “Did he kill a few brain cells?”

“I do,” Lexa shrugs. “No, actually, I got him to tap out before the end of the round. He wasn’t ready for how strong my legs are.”

You become distracted at the thought of those same legs around your head, your movements slowing. "You totally let me win that one time, didn't you?" 

She blanches at your accusation. 

"Oh my God, you used me for sex!"

The shrillness of the sudden silence in the room makes your heart skip. Lexa coughs loudly and it's a full thirty seconds before the rest of the dojo gets back to work. 

"I didn't use you," Lexa mumbles. She kisses the side of your head. "Besides, it was totally worth it." 

You move to punch her in the arm but she sidesteps you and you nearly topple over. She catches your waist before you fall, and the feel of her fingers along your hip bones sends a shock to your core. 

"You need to keep yourself balanced," she whispers in your ear. "Spread your legs so you're stable when you punch." She kicks your legs apart and the fluttering low in your belly starts to stir.

She stands in front of you, hands up. "Hit my hands."

You throw a weak punch, the thought of hitting Lexa making your stomach churn unpleasantly.

She drops her hands and gives you a knowing look. You fall just that much more in love with her, knowing that she can immediately sense your discomfort touching her in any way but loving. "Come, we'll try it on the punching bag."

She shifts you over and pushes the punching bag so it sways as you approach. "This is the bad guy."

"The bad guy?"

Lexa shrugs. "Whoever it is that you need to think of."

You shrug and step closer to the bag. Lexa adjusts your position, and shows you how she wants your knuckles to land on the bag. You throw a few slow motion punches, not putting any force in it, and then Lexa nods. "Keep your thumb out when you punch, okay? Use your hips."

"I think my hips are pretty good."

"Very," she says, eyes scorching when they connect with yours. 

Your eyes keep dipping to the cut of Lexa's tank top, the sweat dripping down between her breasts as you both work through a routine of punches, elbows and knees.

It's very distracting.

"Clarke," she chides, knowing exactly where your mind wandered.

"What?" You tease. "Can't a girl admire her girlfriends… skillset?"

"Of course you can." She hits the bag. "After." 

Before you can hit the bag again, there's commotion at the entrance.

Octavia Woods walks in, and most, if not all, gym members stop what they're doing to welcome her.

Lexa stiffens for half a second before she turns to you again, forcing her focus on her teaching.

It lasts all of thirty seconds.

"Lexa?" Octavia's voice has a hint of excitement in it as she speaks.

Lexa turns slowly, her hackles raised as she protectively pushes you slightly behind her. "Octavia," she greets with a subtle nod.

"I - how - you - how have you been?" She fumbles over her words and the awkward teenager peeks through the confident martial artistist. "Hey, Clarke," she says meekly.

"Hi, Octavia," you greet.

"We're good," Lexa asks. "You've been well?"

It's stiff and formal and you pinch your girlfriend's arm as a way of telling her to play nicely.

Octavia twirls her hair, braided similarly to Lexa's, and you see the similarities in the sisters. What's more, is you see how much they both want to fix this, and how stubborn they both are, so you take control before one of these two idiots screws it up.

"Lexa's teaching me self defense, but I'm a more visual learner. Can you help her demonstrate?"

Lexa sends you a curious look, but you smile sweetly at her.

"Sure!" Octavia says loudly, unable to hide her excitement of mending the bridge that she created.

"Perfect, I needed a dummy," Lexa says. Her smirk grows into a soft smile at her sister, and you know from the returning one that you made the right decision.

***

You try to suppress a laugh when you realize that Lexa is taking advantage of her sister’s ego to give her a thorough ass kicking.

She's already subdued her eight different ways just by using her hands and feet.

“Now that you've mastered getting away from someone grabbing your wrist,” Lexa says when Octavia stands next to her on the mats, “What I want you to learn is how to get out of a bear hug. Octavia?” Octavia moves behind Lexa and grabs her around the waist. Lexa walks through the movements to help you get out - sinking low to the ground to stabilize your centre of gravity, and then throwing elbows to their head and neck or any part of their body you can reach, as well as kicking behind to connect with their crotch.

After performing in slow motion a few times, Octavia suggests doing it at full speed. 

Lexa smirks at you while Octavia dons the protective gear.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Octavia says, smacking her helmet.

In three seconds, Octavia is on her back, a loud, “oof” coming from her mouth as she hits the mats.

“Do you want me to show you that again?” Lexa asks. Octavia hops to her feet beside Lexa, determined to be strong.

You nod. 

“Okay, this time, Octavia, don’t let me win.”

Octavia nods, and you say “go,” when they prompt you to.

You think Lexa gets out of the hold even faster this time, with a more violent escape.

She helps her sister up and then asks you to try it. You halfheartedly go through the motions, not willing to hurt Octavia.

Lexa whistles and Lincoln comes over, also donning the protective gear. He pats you on the shoulder. “I just finished with the munchkins, and figured it’d be helpful for you to deal with someone bigger than you.”

“Thank you," you say. You're awkward and uncomfortable and starting to feel unhinged.

Lincoln punches his belly as hard as possible. “Trust me when I say you can’t hurt me with this on, okay?”

Lexa gives you a reassuring look, and you let Lincoln set up behind you. When she says go, he wraps his arms around you, and you momentarily panic, feeling the air around you whoosh and your lungs seize. 

Lexa takes a step towards you, but Octavia grabs her arm to stop her, and Lincoln takes a step back.

Your heartbeat grows deafening in your ears, and you start to hyperventilate.

Lincoln breathes a box pattern exaggeratedly loud and says, "focus, Clarke. Breathe in. Remember the steps. Breathe out, and attack."

You clench your eyes and try to focus on your breathing.

Breathe in.

Squat throw.

Groin elbows.

Knee low.

Breathe out - the words are a jumble of nonsense.

Breathe in.

Your heartbeat is loud, but steady, and the beat helps you focus on the sound of Lexa's voice in your mind.

Squat  _ low _ .

_ Throw _ elbows.

Knee  _ groin _ .

You let out a feral yell as you follow the steps Lexa taught, and Lincoln drops you quickly. You pant as you look around, confused but excited by your reaction. 

Octavia claps and Lexa does what Lexa does - she sends you a soft, secret smile.

Adrenaline courses through your veins. "Teach me something else?" You ask.

Lexa goes on to show you how to get out of a chokehold, with the added flourish of flipping Octavia onto her back.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” she teases.

Octavia rises to her feet slowly, sorely, a low grunt from her lips.

Lincoln stands behind you and reminds you to focus again. You try to kick him in the groin, but he’s too tall and you miss. You struggle for a moment longer. Lexa nods at you and you become frustrated with yourself for being so  _ weak _ . You use the anger as fuel to your focus and stomp down on Lincoln's foot, and then elbow him underneath his ribs with your free hand. You swing your foot back as hard as you can and manage to make contact with his groin and he let's go of you immediately.

"That was amazing!" Lexa comments after you finish the drill. She walks up to you and plants a heated kiss on your lips to the 'oooh's' of the athletes in the gym.

Your cheeks flush with a happy blush and you bite her bottom lip as she pulls away. "Show me more, Commander," you tease.

Your confidence is sky high as you learn to break out of various holds and create distance from your attacker.

Lexa truly is a great teacher.

Lexa shows off for the rest of the time you’re there learning - she basically beats Octavia to a pulp, the younger sibling tapping the floor and saying, “Uncle,” minutes after she challenged Lexa to an actual match. 

“You’re so hot,” you say in her ear when you’re both sitting on the bench. Lincoln takes Octavia to get some ice, and you notice the way she limps a little more in his presence, and the way he pays a little more attention than necessary to her. 

“You did amazing, Clarke,” Lexa says. 

You let your eyes trail down her body - the sweat dripping down her sports bra and onto her breasts, and you can't help yourself from licking your lips.

She follows your gaze and smirks at you. “I’m going to take a shower. You probably should, too,” she suggests.

You quirk a brow and she winks at you before standing and walking off, an extra sway to her hips as she walks towards the changeroom.

***

The shower stall is filled with steam when you enter, two towels hanging from the same hook. 

Lexa is  _ always _ so considerate.

When you push open the curtain, you’re graced with the glorious sight of Lexa’s toned back and beautiful ass, rivulets of water cascading down her skin. Your mouth waters at the sight, so you lick your lips before entering.

The water is hot, but it feels amazing on your sore muscles, and you let out a relieved sigh at the contact. Your hands immediately graze along Lexa’s back tattoo, your mouth placing kisses along the ink.

Lexa turns slowly, her mouth needy as she kisses you, pressing you against the cold tiles. You let out a tiny gasp at the change in temperature from the heat of the water to the cold tiles. Lexa's mouth doesn't stop, though, and you welcome her tongue, the heat of her mouth warming you from the inside out.

She runs her hands all over your wet skin, flicking and pinching your nipples between her fingers and grinding her thigh into your sex. You feel your slickness coating her thigh, and you rub your cunt even harder against her toned leg, desperate to come to her touch.

She lets her hands trail down your sides, immediately dipping into your folds and tracing an exhilarating pattern in your most sensitive area. She works you up quickly, and you're forced to stifle an unexpected moan in her shoulder.

"Shh, baby, we need to be quiet," she pants in your ear.

She runs two fingers through you, stroking both sides of your clit and gathering the wetness from your entrance on her digits.

“Inside,” you pant, only partially registering the words. “Fuck, inside, Lexa," you whisper, kissing her hungrily. "Fuck me, baby."

She pushes inside you and you groan into her mouth when her long fingers find your favourite spot. Lexa wraps one leg around her waist, holding it with her free hand while she repeatedly attacks your g-spot.

She fucks you hard and fast, and you can hardly catch your breath as the colours start erupting behind your eyelids.

It's a great release. Lexa taught you to be confident in your ability to protect yourself - to feel strong - and you're loving the rough way she fucks you now, still so loving but not letting you feel weak. She gives you all you want and more.

You gasp and hiss, trying your best to stay quiet as your hips undulate against her hand. “Fuck, yes baby, harder,” you whisper, and you can’t stop the smile as your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure.

"I love it when you smile while I fuck you," she whispers in your ear. It makes you smile again. 

"Mmm, I love you," you moan.

Lexa sucks on your neck, and the combination of the bite of her teeth and the roughness of her thrusts sends you hurtling off the edge into a climax so strong that you have to bite down on your own knuckle to keep yourself from screaming.

As your orgasm wanes, you let out a long sigh through your nose and kiss Lexa with everything you can muster at the moment. She lets your leg drop slowly to the tiles, holding you steady as your legs shake underneath you.

“You did so well,” she says. “I’m proud of you, Clarke. How do you feel?” She lathers you up and washes your hair, and you melt into her strong embrace as her fingers run through your scalp.

"Good," you mumble. She washes the soap out, then steps into your space and holds you against her chest, humming softly.

"Thank you for teaching me to be strong," you murmur, your body sated and content.

"You already were strong, love," Lexa says. "Now, you're confident. You don't have to force it." 

You hide your smile in her shoulder, so in love with the woman in your arms.

She holds you as the steam billows around you both. Her fingers trace a soft pattern into the skin of your hips. "Thank you for helping me with Octavia."

You sigh and nuzzle your nose into the soft skin. "I love you," you whisper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long awaited, but hopefully worth it?
> 
> Sex in the shower just makes so much sense. Might as well get clean while you're getting dirty... Even in public stalls.. right? LOL


	15. Chapter 15 - Lexa

You step into the shower, body aching pleasantly after a successful lesson teaching Clarke how to be confident in herself.

You nearly misstepped, jumping in too early and not giving her the opportunity to fight her way through.

You scold yourself under the hot water. 

Clarke is the strongest person you know. 

You know down in your bones that you would do anything to protect her, but you want her to know that she can protect herself. She never has to feel powerless again. 

So when she joins you in the shower  the hot steam fogging the glass door behind her, you desperately want to show her how strong you think she is, and you want to feel strong by holding her up and helping her crash down in pleasure.

You want to give and give and give.

You're also riled up from your sparring with Octavia, excess energy flowing through you after thoroughly beating her into submission.

You feel like the Commander Clarke always calls you. You feel the blood pumping through you, the heat of your aching muscles begging for release.

You fuck her almost ferally, and the more she wants, the harder she wants, the more you give. It's wild and rough, and when she digs her heel into your hip, you nearly get off on nothing at all.

"Harder," she says, and it sends a jolt of electricity through your spine. 

There's so much adrenaline flowing through you both that you're not sure how you've managed to keep your voices down.

Clarke comes around your fingers so hard that you think they might break, and you love the feeling of her not holding back. Her desire to release her pent up energy against your hand makes you feel even wilder. You suck a deep purple mark into her neck to claim her as your own.

She sighs and melts into your body, and you both pant roughly as you come down from the intense fuck. You hold her against you as you wash her body, softly and lovingly because that's essentially what this is - love. You love her so entirely that you lose your senses.

But, you don't mind the madness.

She hums happily into the air as you scrub her scalp, your fingers stimulating her oversensitive body. You wash her hair out and turn her, pulling her into your embrace and enjoying the quiet together.

You want her to know that she can ask for - and be - whatever she wants with you. 

When she whispers she loves you, you know that your message has been sent.

She kisses your throat, nipping at your collarbones and licking a trail down your chest.

She sucks your nipple into her mouth and rolls them with her tongue, a wet slurping sound as she battles the water pouring from the faucet. She bites your nipple as your breathing picks up, and your hands find their way to her hair. "Wait," you pant, your hips disobeying your mind and grinding into her thigh. "Take me home," you moan. Clarke bites the space underneath your nipple in protest. She guides your hips to press down more firmly into her thigh and you mewl in pleasure.

"Please," you beg.

Clarke hums, and let's go of the purpling skin with a loud pop and a cheeky smile.

***

You avoid the eyes of all the fighters as you exit the gym, knowing you've failed miserably at keeping quiet. The slow clap that sounds has you hustling out of the doors, but Clarke slows her steps, turns and waves to everyone, then bows, making the fighters laugh and clap boisterously at your retreat.

"You're so going to pay," you murmur.

"Thank God," she says. "I miss the Commander."

***

Your clothes are already off before you've even closed the door to your bedroom. Clarke is just as quick, stripping as you start rummaging through your drawer. You turn around, the commander hanging from your hand by the straps.

Clarke's eyes widen in anticipation. She marches over to you and takes the toy from your grasp, immediately jumping into it.

"Wait," you say, laughing at her exuberance. "I was going to fuck you?" You question yourself in that moment.

"Oh, you are, but I know you just as much as you know me, and I know you need a rough fuck after that display of martial art greatness."

Your cheeks dust pink.

Clarke pulls the straps tightly around her waist and steps closer to you. "Don't be nervous. Don't hold back."

You attack her mouth again, wet, hot kisses being traded as you walk her backwards to the mattress. When her knees hit the bedframe, you push her chest and she falls onto her back. Her eyes are black with lust as she shimmies into the middle of the mattress. 

You crawl up after her, kissing and licking and nipping any skin you can reach. When you get to the toy, standing at full attention, you let your eyes trail up the soft pale skin of your girlfriend, locking eyes with her as you hover over the dildo. You take the hair tie off your wrist and tie your hair back hastily, and smirk at Clarke as you lick the toy from base to tip.

As desperate as you are, this is all about power, and right now Clarke is riding high on feeling powerful. 

You watch her jaw clench as you slide the dildo into your mouth, take as much of the cock in your mouth and seal your lips around the shaft. You let her enjoy the view before  releasing it with a pop. Your head bobs a few time as you grip the base of the toy with your fist to keep it steady, all the while watching your girlfriend become entranced by the sight of you. 

Clarke's breathing becomes laboured, her teeth taking hold of her bottom lip as she struggles with desire. She lets out a guttural moan and her hips jut up into your mouth, making the dildo hit the back of your throat, but you breathe through the discomfort and continue to suck it like she can feel it. You know that the visualization is enough to convince her she can.

She runs her hand through your hair and pulls you up towards her mouth. "Fuck, I can't believe how hot that is," she breathes, kissing you deeply as you rub your cunt all over the head of the dildo. You reach between your legs and hold on as you slide it through your soaked folds, then slide it inside yourself, ready and willing.

Clarke's eyes are wide as she watches it disappear inside you, and her hands tighten on your hips. "Ugh, how have we not done this sooner?" She asks, guiding your hips to roll atop her. 

You lean down and kiss her again, your tongue sliding into her mouth as you slide over the dick, your movements picking up speed and pressure. Clarke squeezes and slaps your ass, the sudden sting sending you into a frenzy of lust, and you slam your sex down over the cock over and over again.

"Oh, thank God you've got such good stamina," Clarke jokes.

"Shut up," you breathe through a laugh. Your eyes are closed and your hands come to rest on Clarke's chest as you move your hips faster, chasing your orgasm. Clarke pinches your nipples between her fingers and rolls her hips with yours, making the strap on hit deeper parts of you and your breathing hitches. You slam yourself down onto the cock, your legs burning, but the stretch so satisfying that you continue.

Clarke pulls your lips down to her mouth and thrusts into you so hard and fast that you're not able to kiss her back properly. Your mouth hangs open uselessly as Clarke fucks you with abandon until you bite into the pillow underneath her and scream, an orgasm rocking through you so violently that your legs and arms shake with each thrust.

You press a sloppy kiss to her mouth, unable to feel your lips or your face or anything but the orgasm that rocks you. Your moans turn to whimpers as she coaches you through it, and you collapse on top of her, your breathing rough in contrast to her soft touch.

"Wow," she breathes. She pushes your sweaty hair from your forehead and kisses you softly. "Wow."

You suck in a deep breath and push off your girlfriend, removing the toy from your sex and you squeeze around nothing. You collapse onto the mattress, your chest still heaving from the exertion of the orgasm.

Clarke rolls onto her side and watches you. She smiles. "Feel better?" She asks.

"So much," you say. You take one last deep breath and spring up, pulling the strap on down Clarke's legs and off her body. You wipe it down with a towel and reach into your bed stand for a condom, pulling it over the toy with practiced ease.

Clarke's eyes widen along with her smirk while she watches you settle between her thighs. You run the toy through her folds a few times, growling at the slick sheen of her wetness. You position the head at her entrance and before you can even push inside, she's pulling you into her with her legs. "You have no idea how hot it is when you're sweating," she says, hips immediately picking up a fast rhythm. 

You smile and adjust yourselves so you can get your hands underneath her hips and pull her up to you at an angle. You set a punishing pace, getting high off the sounds of Clarke's moans and the slapping sounds of your skin hitting hers. "I'm gonna come," she warns, so you slow your strokes until she groans, and you pull out of her completely, shifting so you can lick through her instead.

"Oh, fuck," she says, hand coming to rest on your head and keep you there. 

It's mere seconds before she comes on your tongue, and you greedily lick it all. You move back to your knees and slip inside her again, strokes long and slow as her orgasm tapers, and then harder and faster. You bury your head in her neck and pant in her ear, loving the way it makes goosebumps appear on her skin. You move your hips faster and your hands find her breasts, squeezing and rolling and pinching her nipples while she fucks you just as hard as you're trying to fuck her.

Her body goes rigid, her nails scratching down your back and her teeth biting into the skin of your shoulder so hard that you know there will be marks as she screams out her second orgasm, gushing hot liquid all over you both.

You spend a long time cleaning her up, your tongue soft against her clit, and your hands continuously massaging her breasts. 

Her pussy is pink and swollen and so inviting that you spend more than ten minutes down there, not realizing how long has passed until you hear the hitch in her breath and feel her hands in your hair. "Yes, baby," she breathes, and you suck the engorged clit in your mouth, rolling your tongue around it. 

Clarke rocks her hips into your face, so you let your nose press against the head as your tongue dips inside her, the warm opening delicious on your tongue. 

Clarke loves the feel of it, and rubs herself against you, encouraging you to continue. 

You push your tongue in as deep as you can, pulling her juices out of her into your waiting mouth. You fuck her with your tongue, your nose and lips and teeth teasing and stimulating her clit until you feel her walls start to flutter around your tongue. You flick the muscle inside of her and put more energy into it, and enjoy the fruits of your labour when Clarke comes so violently that her nails dig into your scalp and she squirts on your tongue.

"Oh my God, I tap, I tap. Uncle. I'm done. Oh god," she breathes, laughing as she rolls onto her side.

"Feel good?"

"Amazing. God, I love you."

"I love you too, babe," you say, crawling up next to her and snuggling into her side, the two of you falling into a peaceful sleep after such a rigorous workout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all were patient, so here's some filth just because.
> 
> :-)


	16. Chapter 16 - Clarke

You're bored.

Utterly, fantastically bored. 

You can’t even distract yourself with the taste of Lexa because she’s off taking photographs of Aden - trying to promote some new sports drink with sweaty MMA fighting pictures.

You hate to admit the idea of a sweaty Lexa leaves you a little… thirsty.

But, she won’t be the one that’s sweating in front of the camera, so you have her a slap on the ass and sent her on her way without you this morning.

But now…

...you're bored.

Raven’s busy with Anya, as always, and you’ve officially run out of storage room for your paintings of Lexa, even if she somehow managed to convince you to put a few of them up on the internet for sale. You've sold a few for what you feel is an exorbitant price, struggling to let it go because the thought of someone gazing upon the sight of a bare Lexa makes you uncomfortable.

Ironic, really, considering your profession.

The phone rings with an unknown number while you're lying upside down on your couch thinking about the sight of Lexa’s bare ass with charcoal and paint smudges from a spirited paint fight that led to several orgasms and a broken canvas.

"Hello?" You huff.

"Clarke?"

The one syllable, the wavering click of the ‘C’ makes Your heart freeze in your chest. The voice is so similar, but so foreign at the same time. You had resigned yourself to a life without ever hearing it again.

"Mom?"

***

Lexa walks into your apartment, the sound of her keys landing in the bowl accompanied by the thump of her leather boots being kicked into the closet. It’s not enough to pull you from the stupor you currently find yourself in; however.

"Clarke?" She whispers, kneeling down beside you to run her hands through your hair. This close, her eyes are so green. A shade of emerald mixed with sea foam, and the hint of worry always brings out the gold flecks. "Baby?" She worries her lip and her hands hover over your skin, frantic and gentle and confused, but you can't find the words to express yourself - can't put a name to the emotions that you feel. You huff and close your eyes, inhaling the soothing scent of your lover while you try to regain yourself, knowing that the pulsating beat of the blood rushing to your brain is not helping you think any more clearly on what to do.

You roll back up onto the couch, the dizzying effect of hanging your head off the side for an absurd amount of time making your brain actually  _ hear  _ static. It’s a welcomed distraction.

Your head thumps heavily and sparks a migraine that you should have known was waiting. You try to lift your head to look at your girlfriend, only to let it fall lazily back down onto the cushions.

Lexa doesn't sit beside you. Instead, She hovers, the sound of her dropping to her knees in front of the couch all there is to give away her presence while you curse yourself for the deafening sound of blood in your ears.

"My mom," you croak out, eyes closed tightly at the reverberating sound.

Lexa sighs, slightly annoyed at the scare you gave her. "Is she okay?" Her hand is warm when it relaxes on your back, and you relish the heat that trickles through your white shirt and into your skin.

"She's fine," you sigh.

"Okay…" you can hear the confusion in your lover's voice. You've had countless conversations in regards to your mother - countless sessions of you admitting your desire to have her in your life, and yet…

"She's coming to town."

"And you're nervous?"

You roll over and lift your head up just long enough for Lexa to slip underneath you on the couch. Your head falls into her lap, and she starts to run her fingers along your scalp. 

How do you tell her that you don't want them to meet because you just  _ know  _ your mother will scare off the girl you love. The girl who is so wholesome and perfect and wonderful, that you just  _ happened  _ to meet in a strip club.

"I'd love to meet her," Lexa says softly, almost as if reading your thoughts in the completely wrong way.

_ Stay away! Don’t come near! _ Is what you had hoped she’d understand. 

A dry, sad laugh escapes you. "She'll hate you."

Lexa let's a small sound escape her throat. "I know. But she'll never know not to if she doesn't actually meet me."

"I hate that you’re so..." you gesture to the air above you.  _ Understanding _ is the only word that seems to come to mind and even that doesn't fit. Lexa cannot be explained with the use of one mundane word.

Her teeth graze along the plump bottom lip as she drinks in your presence with her soft gaze. "You love me."

You’re caught staring at her for just a moment. The freckles over her nose, the way a few stubborn strands of hair absolutely  _ refuse  _ to remain tucked behind her ear like the rest of the wild locks she's somehow managed to tame. 

"I do,” you agree wholeheartedly. “So fucking much.”

Lexa’s sly smile turns into a full grin. 

“That's why…" you sigh, turn your body and your face to snuggle against her stomach, mumbling, "that's why I don't want to lose you. She will hate you for the sole reason of how we met."

Lexa hums, her hand not currently threaded through your locks comes to rest on your back and she pulls you in closer to her warmth - comforting and soft and just so… Lexa. "Let's have her over for dinner. We’ll make a family affair out of it. She can meet Anya, O and Indra.” And get it all out of the way,and... Less pressure on you." 

Her cheeks blaze at your quirked brow, so you kiss the warmth of her stomach through her shirt, overwhelmed with gratitude that she would be willing to do this just to make it easier on you. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

You let your lips dance against her shirt while you speak, sinking into the embrace and into Lexa. You love her very much and want nothing more than to spend the rest of your evening focusing on  _ her  _ and not the thought of your  _ mother _ .

Lexa flinches, ticklish with the contact as your lips graze lightly against the fabric. "Remind me?" She asks.

You spring up and grab the remote that controls her stereo, turning on the last song you practiced your routine to. It’s Lexa’s favourite, and secretly yours because You never make it through the entirety of the song before she drags you to the bedroom and buries her face between your thighs.

You pull your hair out of your headband, your hair falling around your face and gaze down at your lover, watching as her eyes dilate immediately. She grips the cushions of the couch, and you throw a leg over her lap, straddling her and leaning down to kiss her open mouth.

"Gladly," you husk, letting the music take over your body.

***

"So, I convinced Indra to cook for us since you seem to be incapable of it," Lexa says gently.

"I'm perfectly capable of cooking," you respond.

Lexa's eyebrows raise as she glances at your hand. "You're stirring with a knife."

Your eyes fall to your hand and note that, yes, you really are. You laugh and flash the cocky smile to your lover. "It was chunky. I was de-chunkifying it, obviously."

“Obviously," Lexa agrees, her head nodding along. You love her more when she ignores your idiocy, especially because the pot is filled only with water.

"I still would prefer Indra to cook. She's excited to meet your mom, too. She loves to show off."

You sigh and place the knife on the counter. "She's going to be here in five hours."

"Exactly. Indra will only need an hour to whip up something delicious, so you can spend the rest of that time  _ relaxing _ . Let me run you a bath, maybe give you a massage, love you," Lexa says softly, placing a gentle kiss to the shell of your ear.

The sparks it shoots to your belly are automatic - Lexa’s hot breath in your ear enough to make your knees buckle.

“Don’t start,” You warn even as your fingers ball up her shirt in your hands.

She pecks your lips again, sucking on your bottom lip, and you chase her lips until you nearly fall into her chest.

“Come,” she commands with a seductive wave of her finger. “Your bath awaits.”

***

“Knock, knock, bitches,” Raven announces as she walks into your apartment. She is followed by the rest of the Woods Clan including Lincoln from the gym (you tuck that piece of information away to tease Octavia about), and you note the way Indra scrutinizes your apartment with the eye of a mother. 

Anya dips her head in a nod of acknowledgement, Lincoln waves bashfully (which is so much more endearing considering just how big of a man he is) and Octavia wraps you in a tight squeeze, her cheeks flaring when you glance between her and Lincoln and wink at her. 

“I’m so excited to see mama G,” Raven says, collapsing onto the couch. 

“I’m just excited to stuff my face,” Octavia adds in her childish way. “Oh, yeah, and I brought wine.”

You roll your eyes. “How did you even  _ get  _ wine?” You ask the teen. You send a withering glance over to Lincoln, who averts his eyes to the floor. You raise your brows at Octavia, silently asking her what  _ that  _ is all about.  She shrugs at you, even as her cheeks flush.

“You were close with Clarke’s mother?” Indra asks your best friend. 

Before you can interject, Raven sticks her foot in her mouth, saying, “nah, mama G was a smoke show back in the day. I bet she still looks the same. I mean, I guess ya. I’ve known Clarkey since before her tits were her best feature.”

Anya and Indra sport twin quirked brow, and Lexa lets out a harsh chuckle.

“She did give birth to Clarke,” Lexa adds unhelpfully.

“Yeah, and mama G's tits are -“

“Do you think we could talk about anything other than my mom's tits?” You nearly screech. 

Raven, thoroughly scolded, rolls her eyes and stretches out on the couch. She gestures the size of your mother's chest in her palms to Octavia and Lexa when she thinks you aren’t looking. You hear a smack and a resounding, “ouch!” picturing the sight of Anya’s hand coming into contact with the back of Raven’s head.

“No looking at my mom's tits,” you shout to your girlfriend.

Lexa meanders over and wraps her arms around your waist, nuzzling her nose into your neck while you uncork the bottle of wine.“Yours are the only ones I will ever gaze upon,” she responds.

You turn and shove her for her cheesiness, your cheeks flushing at the utter adoration in her eyes. “Don’t do that in front of my mom, either,” you say between soft kisses, handing her her glass of wine.

Lexa’s brow furrows. She sucks in a deep breath and closes her eyes. After a prolonged moment, she exhales, “sorry, I was just running through my spank bank of your… features… to try and tide myself over until the end of dinner. I will try my best.”

“ _ Please _ , get out of my kitchen,” Indra sighs, swatting at Lexa’s leg.

***

By the time your mother actually shows up, you’re a complete disaster - not that you were far from it to begin with.

Octavia is right there with you, tipsy off the wine she brought. You have been too wound up to even take a sip, and Octavia took it upon herself to drink your share. “I love you guys,” she drawls, her head lolling back onto the couch. 

“Should I put her to bed?” Lincoln asks. Your girlfriend shrugs and sends her a warning glare that has Octavia feigning sobriety until she hiccups and falls into a set of giggles.

“No,” you sigh, resting your head on Lexa’s shoulder. “Consider her comic relief.”

Indra glances where your eyes are focused, only to sigh and shake her head at the youngest Woods. 

You try to busy yourself with washing dishes and puttering around the kitchen, but Indra is quick to dismiss you. “Get out of my kitchen, I need to work.”

“technically -“ you start, but your girlfriend is lightning fast and somehow able to spring up behind you and cover your mouth with her hand, slowly pulling you backwards out of the range of Indra's fiery gaze.

“don’t poke the bear,” she whispers in your ear. 

You don’t have time to retort when the bell sounds, a cold wave of anxiety dropping straight into the pit of your stomach. Lexa feels your body stiffen, rubbing your arms soothingly as you suck in a breath into your chest, unsure if you’re even capable of letting it go of her or the air in your lungs.

Raven takes it upon herself to move this along, opening the door to your apartment. “Mama G!” She yells, and you see her lean forward to embrace the person - your mother - on the other side of the door frame.

“Hello, Raven,” your mother greets. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Come in, come in - yo, Clarke, your mom’s here!” Raven yells.

Your feet have a mind of their own, trying to slide backwards toward your room. You’re so nervous you can barely take an even breath - just on the verge of hyperventilating with every passing second.

Lexa’s gentle hand nudges you towards the door, a soft press of lips to your ear encouraging you. “Hi, mom,” you croak out, feeling the lead in your feet lessen with Lexa’s hand on you.

Your mother looks at you, her sharp eyes softening just a touch as they dance along your face, reconciling the girl in front of her with the girl that left home years ago. She opens her mouth to say something, but hastily shuts it and stares, just as dumbstruck by your appearance in front of her as you appear to be seeing her in front of you.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you stand awkwardly in front of your mother. Your hands ball into fists and you feel the heat flushing to your cheeks as Abby continues to stare. Lexa clears her throat from behind you, reaching around you with her hand on your lower back sending jolts through your spine to shake your mother's hand. “Hi, Mrs. Griffin, I’m Lexa.”

Abby gives your girlfriend a tight smile before looking back at you. Lexa’s hand on your lower back pushes you just slightly and you take a step towards your mother. You see the shock flash in her eyes before you take another and step right into her space, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and hugging her. You fall into the embrace, the smell of your childhood home assaulting your nostrils and pulling long buried emotion from your chest almost to the point of spilling out of your eyes.

When you pull back, you’re sure you catch Abby blinking away tears as she clears her throat and turns to take off her jacket.

***

“So, Lexa, what do you do?” Your mother asks as she takes in your apartment. She pauses in front of a canvas that Lexa hung in the living room - a simple black and white painting of her bare form lying in the bed, but the simple lines only highlight her silhouette. Abby hums, not even aware that the painting is yours.

“You’ve done well for yourself,” your mother says without looking at you. You know it's a dig, but you swallow it down with a gulp of wine and smile at her in response.

Lexa pours her a glass of wine while your mother moves to look out the window. 

The initial greetings were awkward as your mother scrutinized the Woods’ sisters - noting the obvious differences between them. 

She glanced to Indra, even more confused with the way the girls embraced her like a mother, Octavia especially, leaning into her side as she helped cook. 

_ “These are my half-sisters,” Lexa had mentioned specifically for your mother’s understanding. “And our aunt,” she referred to Indra as. Indra laughed and shook your mother’s hand, not cowering in the slightest when she explained, “I was their chef and nanny when they were children. They refer to me as Aunt now because they do not have a need for me, but still enjoy my company.” _

_ You can feel the barb she directs toward your mother for willingly becoming absent in your life.  _

“Oh, uh, I actually am not working right now,” Lexa responds.

“She’s a photographer,” you chime in, ignoring the confused look Lexa sends you for rushing to answer for her. “She’s really good, too.”

Your mom accepts the drink from Lexa, her hand tightening around the glass as she stares into the dark liquid. She looks thoughtful before she takes a sip.  “Interesting.” 

Your chest feels tight with anxiety. 

Raven touches your lower back as she passes you after leaving the kitchen - unsuccessful in her attempt to sneak some food and rubbing her reddened knuckles - flopping dramatically down onto the chair, her head landing roughly on Anya’s lap. “Mama G, what have  _ you  _ been doing? What are you doing here? You haven’t come to the city in a long time. How’s home?” 

You send a grateful smile her way, happy to deflect the attention away from Lexa. You don't want your mom to have anything that she can cling to that would give her reason to attack your girlfriend.

“I had a conference I couldn’t get out of,” your mother replies.

“Harsh,” Raven scolds openly. “And here we thought you actually missed us.”

You hold your breath as she stares at your mom, unwavering and daring her to deny the fact that we were afterthoughts.

“I  _ did  _ miss you, Raven. Both of you,” she says as she glances at you.

Lexa slides in beside you, her hand tracing soothing patterns on your lower back in a way to calm your nerves. You don’t miss the way your mom's eyes tighten around the edges.

“Well, we’re very glad you were able to stop by. It’s great to finally meet you,” Lexa says.

Your mother just gives her another tight smile and sips from her wine, already tallying up the strikes that Lexa has earned for just being alive and in your presence.

Anya does absolutely nothing to hide the murderous glare at the slight disrespect being directed at her sister.

Lincoln walks in with appetizers, a dazzling smile on his face falling as he absorbs the intense atmosphere. He places the plate on the table, clearing his throat before scurrying back into the kitchen and away from the awkwardness. You wish you could follow him. 

***

After the appetizers and wine are devoured, you’re a little less stressed - maybe you’re just a little more numb to your mothers unshakeable disdain for you and your girlfriend. 

Octavia must be extra numb if her swaying says anything. She might have drank the wine a little faster than anticipated, clutching at Lincoln’s arm as she flirts with him. He smiles down lovingly at her, his big hand settling around her waist.

“Were you always a photographer?” Your mother asks, seemingly stuck on the subject of Lexa pursuing something that is, in her mind, a hobby.

Lexa lets out a small chuckle. “No, not purposefully. My mother encouraged it, but my father wasn’t a fan. I only really embraced it since she passed.” 

You lay a hand on her thigh and press a kiss to her shoulder at the confession. You catch your mother’s eye soften just a bit at that, the memory of Jake’s unwavering belief in your art causing years of loving frustration between them.

“What do you shoot?” She asks.

“Anything and everything, really,” Lexa deflects, her cheeks turning slightly rosy at the line of questioning and the silent attention of everyone in the room. She’s so accustomed to fighting for people to take her seriously about photography that she’s overwhelmed by the quiet support and rapt attention of everyone(except Octavia, who dazes in and out).

“She likes capturing natural moments.” Your eyes settle on Lexa’s, noting the hints of gold dancing asher eyes skirt along your face, the crinkles in the corner of her eyes as she fights down a smile, the warm green peering back at you. “Things she finds beautiful.” Your hand runs along the side of the closest dark brown frame housing a picture of you and Kissing Lexa’s cheek as she gazed into the camera with her signature smouldering look. Your heart flutters at the memory of the moment. As soon as the camera flashed, you knew it would be a keeper.

“And it pays well? I would hope you are better with money than Clarke is. Or are you also someone who can only imagine instant gratification and doesn’t think long term?” Your mother let's out a forced laugh, trying to buy her audience with hiding the dig behind a joke.

And there it is. The ice of your mom’s words slide down your back to bring you back from your temporary detour as you fell into pools of green. Your mother doesn’t care too much for the actual art of photography, just like she never cared about your own art. Her eyes dart around your place and you realize that she’s only asking because she wants to know if Lexa is a freeloader. 

Your throat burns in a flare of frustration. What the hell is it with parents only caring about how much you make?

Anya must catch on if the harsh cough she chokes on says anything.

“Are you getting sick?” Octavia asks her sister. 

Lincoln shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, only for Octavia to turn on him and ask, “are you getting sick, too? Have you two been making out behind my back? Can I watch it next time?”

Lincoln ushers her into the kitchen, murmuring that he hears Indra asking for help.

“It pays for my apartment and all the things I enjoy, so, I’m content,” Lexa answers your mother. You won’t let her know that you can feel her spine stiffen as she stands a little straighter in the eye of someone doubting her character.

Your mother nods and concedes, turning her fake smile to a genuine one when Raven intercepts and diverts her attention to a conversation about stem cells.

***

Indra serves a curried dish to the table, causing you to drool instantly. “Oh, man, that smells amazing,” you say, swallowing down the saliva that threatens to escape.

“It does,” your mother agrees. “Where did you learn to cook?” she asks Indra as you all settle into your places in the dining room. Lexa shuffles her chair to be close enough to you that her fingers can trace patterns on your thigh.

“A school in France,” Indra replies modestly. 

“Oh, you own a restaurant?” your mother says around a bite full of food, moaning pleasantly at the taste.

“No, I took the job with the Wood’s upon my return home, and stayed ever since. These girls tend to grow on you,” she replies. She gives Anya, Octavia and Lexa both a warm look.

“So, you put your aspirations on the side to cook for a family?” incredulity laces your mother's words.

Indra shrugs. “I find that work aspirations do not make me as happy as it has been to play a part in raising some incredible women - even if they were so spoiled that now they can't cook,” she adds, a teasing glint in her eye directed towards Lexa.

Your mother swallows thickly, and you catch her trying to cover the guilty glance she sends your way before clearing her throat to divert her attention back to her food. “It smells amazing, Indra. Really.” A stilted silence falls over the table. “So, Lincoln, what do you do?”

The stoic gentleman that Lincoln is, he wipes his mouth and chews thoughtfully on his food before answering. “I’m currently working at an MMA gym.”

A frustrated sigh leaves your mother’s lips. “Did you go to school?” 

Lincoln shakes his head. “No, but I’ve been taking courses on becoming a paramedic.”

Your mom’s eyes perk up at that, sudden disinterest falling away at the mention of the medical profession. “Oh, you could be more than just a paramedic. You should become a doctor, Lincoln,” your mom suggests. “I encouraged Clarke to do so as well, but she seemed to have… other plans.” She says it so sharply that you feel the air in your lungs deflate.

Lincoln, the quiet pacifist, takes the opportunity to slip from the table, too uncomfortable to actually answer your mother’s blatant unhappiness with your choices of profession. He would rather awkwardly leave than acknowledge the fact that he and Indra are the only two in the room to not have seen you naked.

Octavia winks at you at that moment and you have to bite your lip to hide your laugh at the I’ll-timed levity. She’s so,  _ so _ drunk.

The awkward air is cut through again by Raven, of course. Always feeling the need to protect you from your mother, Raven chokes on the tension of the situation, coughing loudly and forcing Anya to pat her back gently.

You would chuckle at her deliberate attempt to save you if you could.

But, you can’t.

Because, the coughing stops and Raven’s face turns a bright red.

“Rey?” you ask, concern mounting as you look at your best friend. She’s waving at her throat as all eyes turn to her. 

“What’s in this sauce?” you ask Indra suddenly. Your eyes glare down at the brown sauce on your plate, wishing you could see the makeup of it at just a glance instead of waiting for Indra to list off her ingredients.

“Cumin, paprika, coriander, tamarind, cloves..” she starts to list and your eyes widen.

“Oh, Jesus -,” You’re out of your seat before you can think and rushing to the linen closet where you keep your medication. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Babe?” Lexa asks, a worried furrow to her brow.

“Raven’s allergic to tamarind,” you snap.

“That’s a very… specific allergy,” Indra comments, her brows furrowed in thought and regret. “I didn’t even think to ask.”

Lincoln takes the opportunity to walk back into the room with a glass of water at his lips, only for his eyes to widen at Raven's pale face and wild hands, and turns abruptly around to walk back into the kitchen.

He’d be a shit paramedic if he didn’t get over his anxiety.

There’s a shrillness to the silence that envelops your dinner party, all eyes flitting between you and your best friend as she clutches at her throat and gasps for air.

Finally, you find the extra epi pen you keep lying around (you’re a doctor’s daughter - you’re always prepared) and toss it over to Anya.

Anya catches it mid air, and it's a sweet moment when she looks over to her girlfriend with soft eyes before stabbing her in the leg with the needle. Within seconds, Raven takes a large breath deep into her lungs. “Great sauce,” she chokes out after a moment, sending a tear-filled smile to Indra in a vain attempt to divert the attention away from the fact that she almost died. “Really, bold flavours.”

You count backwards from five, and by the time you reach three, Raven’s already out of her seat and rushing to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl - Anya hot on her heels and mouthing a ‘sorry’ to you.

“Well, that’s not awkward,” Octavia chimes in, a drunken hiccup escaping as she giggles to herself.

The sounds of retching echo throughout your apartment only to emphasize the point.

Lincoln makes a vain attempt to re-enter the war zone that is your dining room, only to leave again when Lexa scrambles to get up and turn on some music to drown out the sound of Raven vomiting. Because of course,  _ of course _ , the music she turns on is the same music that she was fucking you to earlier, and the heavy sexual overtones are not missed by anyone in the room.

“Hey, isn’t this the song you stripped for me with?” Octavia blurts out.

Lexa squeaks, your face pales, Lincoln walks into the side of the counter, and Indra shifts uncomfortably in her seat as your mom’s eyes turn dark, staring down at her food.

As Lexa scrambles to change the music - accidentally turning it to full blast, then changing it to an even  _ more  _ seductive song, your mother squirms uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers gripping the tablecloth tight enough to turn white.

You can’t breathe. You would rather be surrounded by fifty horny men at the club than try to figure out what your mother is thinking. You feel like you’re  _ suffocating _ and you don’t know how to fix it.

Finally, your girlfriend manages to turn on the radio, letting out a pathetic cheer for herself before she turns remorseful eyes onto you. You just smile softly at her, ignoring the glare from your mom. It really isn’t Lexa’s fault.

“I suppose I should be going,” your mother says abruptly, her fork hitting her plate with a loud clang.

You swallow thickly, letting your utensils settle next to your plate as well and preparing yourself for the onslaught of insults you’re sure are to be thrown your way. Indra gets up to remove the still full plates, somehow corralling Octavia to help her, and gives you a warm, loving, reassuring look in an attempt to remind you that you’re loved just how you are.

“We haven’t even had dessert yet,” you try uselessly.

Your mother ignores you, thanks Indra again for the meal as she scrambles or her feet, adjusting her skirt and primping herself to look  like she’s not leaving in a frazzled mess because she’s embarrassed of her daughter.

You follow her to the door, your feet dragging behind yourself and feeling the utter failure that reconnecting with your mother that this dinner was.

Your heart thumps heavily in your chest with every inch closer to her retreat, and a heavy blanket of loneliness settles on your shoulders knowing that you are watching the only remaining family member walk away from you.

Your own mother doesn’t want you. 

“Mom -“ you try, but the words get stuck in your throat.

Abby avoids your eye, tugging her jacket and shoes on. “It was nice to see you’re doing well, Clarke,” she says icily, the coldness of her words seeping down your spine and wrapping around your heart. “I’m glad to see your…” she gestures to you and your place, “I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Mom -“ you try again, the tears in your throat burning as you try to swallow the rejection.

You can’t get another word out as your mom turns abruptly, opening your door and walking out without looking back.

Hot tears leak down your face - staring at the grains in the wood and wondering how your mother could walk away from you so easily. Wondering if your mother's disappointment is warranted - if being a stripper makes you less than deserving of love. Deserving of family.

Lincoln appears out of nowhere and lays a soft hand on your shoulder, sparking your tears to fall in earnest. Your choked sobs are so deafening that you hardly register the sounds of Lexa throwing her coat on and hurrying out the door.

It's when the door shuts for a second time that you crumple into the strong arms of Lincoln and let out all the pain that you’ve been holding onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I disappeared. I'm so sorry. My life went a little nuts, which threw off my schedule IMMENSELY. My father-in-law lost his very short, but intense battle with cancer on Thanksgiving. Christmas holidays happened. My fiancee and I bought our first house. I came off my antidepressants (which is NEVER a fun time). And, My puppy (he's 13, so he's an old, good boy) was diagnosed with cancer, and found out today that we're putting him down on Saturday.
> 
> I've been working on this chapter for a while, but obviously stalled for the above reasons.
> 
> On the lighter side, a lot of the parts of this chapter actually happened to my friend group when we met the mom of a new partner. So take the laughter with the angst and know that accidentally cooking the one food that causes an allergic reaction, someone playing their sexy time playlist on full blast, another person being so drunk they are useless, and someone else not knowing how to deal with their anxiety to the point that they up and leave mid-conversation is a real thing.
> 
> So! I just wanted to get this chapter out to whoever is still patiently waiting, errors and all.
> 
> I appreciate you all <3


	17. Chapter 17 - Lexa

Your jaw pulsates with the clenching and unclenching of your teeth. You let a stray thought drift to the wonderment of human strength and just how many pounds of force it would take for you to crack your jaw completely. How angry you’d have to be. 

You think you might be close to that now.

How dare she - how dare this  _ stranger  _ ask to come into your girlfriend’s life only to judge her and make a very uncomfortable and scary situation for Clarke even worse by rejecting her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

You hear the voice, but you don’t register it as your own until Abby freezes, turns and directs her widened eyes and slackened jaw towards you.

It's only then that you realize that the thoughts you’re currently having are also leaving your lips in a biting tone.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

The myriad of emotions that flows through you feels static in its intensity. You suck in a sharp breath through your nose and swallow down the bile of anger that threatens to spill over. You stand up straighter, clenching your hands behind your back as you glare at the woman in front of you. You refuse to let her see you as anything but an aloof business woman, tapping into who you  _ used  _ to be, because it appears that Abby Griffin can’t understand anything but how it could affect her  _ work _ . You take two strides towards Abby, the glare in your eyes enough to have her taking two strides back.

Clarke may love you because you’re a bumbling, charming idiot, but when it comes to protecting your family, whether it be through work or general conversations, you’re anything but.

“Where are you going for your conference tomorrow, Abby?” you ask, your voice purring almost like a lioness stalking her prey. “It’s a medical convention, no? Held by Trikru Industries? Do you know who owns them?”

Abby scoffs, rolling her eyes are her arms cross over her chest. “What does that matter to you?”

You squeeze your fists behind your back. “Your daughter is one of the most intelligent, loving, happy people I’ve ever met. That painting you were staring at was hers. She painted it. She’s sold half of her work without even having to really try because she’s just  _ that  _ talented. She’s amazing and the best thing to have ever happened to me, and I find it wholly disconcerting that the woman I love so much seems to be at such an impasse with her mother.”

Abby grumbles, unable to stop herself from taking a jab. “That's a low standard considering your profession.”

The only tell that you were annoyed by her remarks came from the tick of your eyebrow. You wet your lips before asking again, “What company is holding the conference?”

She scoffs again and steps away from you, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “What does it matter to you! Are you going to stalk me there until I apologize to my daughter for rightly being disappointed in her?”

You shake your head, eyes closing and wishing for strength. You haven’t had to put on this persona in a long time, and it frays at your edges when you channel the aloofness that Titus hammered into you as a child. “I believe the company holding the conference is Trikru Industries - recently purchased in a massive overtaking by Woods Corp. The conference is to discuss the support we can provide nationally for survivors of addiction and their families, as well as providing better care for the people who are currently still struggling with addiction themselves.”

Abby’s eyes widen as you stare, your left brow ticking up challengingly. “They were recently bought out by…”

You watch with glee as she puts the pieces together.

“Alexandria Woods,” she breathes, her face turning sickly pale. “You-I’m-I’m-I-”

You hold your hand up, not bothering to hide the look of disgust on your face at the woman in front of you. “I paid for you to come out here. You’re one of the top doctors in Arkadia, and I thought that a brilliant mind like yours would be able to provide enough compassion and empathy to help guide this conference to a better way. I see that it was a waste of an invite to involve you.” Your chin tilts upwards as you look down at Clarke’s mother, left standing with her mouth agape.

Your shoulders drop as your gaze falls off to the side, a sudden sadness overtaking you. The armour you wear when you work for the company feels heavy on your shoulders now that you are unpracticed in its weight. You sigh. You hate that the only way through to Clarke’s mother is to talk about work. “Honestly, Abby, I invited you here in hopes that you would mend things with your daughter. Of course, you’re a brilliant doctor and have a brilliant mind, but the real reason I pushed for this conference was to give you an opportunity to fix this.” You gesture behind you to the door. 

“I knew she would hate me if I told her that this was what I did, but I’d rather Clarke hate me than to lose her mother. I lost mine - I don’t have the chance to speak with her, let alone fight with her. Clarke  _ misses  _ you. She talks about you all the time. She talks about how she wishes she had turned to you when things got bad with Finn, but she was so scared of disappointing you.”

“She's still stripping.”

Your ears pulse with the rush of anger rising from your collar. “ _ So _ ?” you bite.

Abby implores you to understand, “You're the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, she doesn't need to do that anymore. You can  _ save _ her.” 

You notice the pleading in her voice and you can’t help but breathe out a laugh. “I don't - Clarke -  _ save her?  _ Are you fucking kidding me?” You sigh, rocking back on your heels to gather yourself quickly. You can’t comprehend why this is such a problem to her mother - to your father - to  _ anyone  _ who isn’t dating her. “The reason we work - the reason I love your daughter so much - Clarke is doing what she loves every moment of every day. She paints, she dances. Yes, she takes off her clothes, but she does it because she  _ wants to _ . She’s not forced to. She’s not - she doesn’t need  _ saving _ . It’s not hurting anyone - especially not  _ her _ .”

You feel the heat building under your collar as you work yourself up all over again. “You don’t just - if anything, her stripping is what saved  _ me _ . You know what?-“ your hands shake and you shift from one leg to the other to stop yourself from walking away from Abby. “-you don’t just get to walk into her life again, only to upend it like that and then disappear in your cloud of disappointment,” you snap. “Clarke is  _ happy,  _ and she had no reason to invite you into her life just for you to act this way. So what if she didn’t follow exactly in your footsteps? So  _ what  _ if she does something that you don’t approve of? She does this of her own free will, and as you can clearly see, she's doing just  _ fine.” _ Now that you’ve started ranting about how great Clarke is, you can’t seem to stop yourself. “She’s loving and caring and so,  _ so  _ smart. She’s amazing and thank fuck she is a stripper, because she’s the only person I know to not be trying to hide how shitty of a person they are behind some title. You may put on a doctor's coat everyday, but you’re the only person here who needs to be saved!”

Abby’s jaw slackens in disbelief, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek to stymie your temper.

It’s a long, strained minute of silence as you glare down at her mother.

“It doesn’t bother you?” she eventually asks.

You shake your head, letting out a harsh breath to let go of your pent up frustration. “Clarke enjoys it. If I couldn’t handle that then I wouldn’t be dating her. And I would be a huge asshole if I couldn’t handle it. We lust after these girls - treat them like something desirable - until it’s someone we know. It’s bullshit.”

Abby bites her lip and sighs heavily. “She’s a stripper, I can't just -”

You let out a loud, frustrated groan. Your hand trails down your face, trying to wipe away the anger that seems to continue to simmer underneath your skin.

“She’s your daughter! She’s a human being! Her work doesn't define her just as much as my work doesn’t define me and your work doesn’t define you! Don’t think I haven’t noticed how much more respectful you are now that you know my connections to the very reason you’re here.”

She hesitates for a moment. “I…”

“Don't think that you’re suddenly a good person  _ just because  _ you’re a doctor. You have to earn that, and honestly, Abby, I’m starting to wonder if you’re even worth having this discussion with. If you can’t see Clarke for how amazing she is…” your head shakes in disappointment. “You’re willing to lose your entire family because you’re embarrassed.”

Abby chokes on her words.

Tears spring in her eyes that she doesn’t bother to wipe away.

“I don’t want to keep her from you. I encouraged this. I arranged this. Don’t blow it because of some selfish pride. She wanted to come to you the first time Finn hit her, but you know what she thought? She thought that you wouldn’t believe her. She thought that you wouldn’t listen. It’s not your fault that she stayed with him, but it  _ is  _ your fault that you let a hostile environment fester to the point that she thought she couldn’t reach out to you. She's the only daughter you have, and you’re the only parent she has.”

Abby lets out a dry laugh. “Here I was judging you because I thought you were another douchebag.”

“It’s not your place to judge her regardless of who I am. She doesn't need your approval anymore. As she's shown, she doesn't need you in her life, but she clearly  _ wants  _ you there.”

“I’m sorry,” Abby says, her head hanging low.

“Don't tell me, tell her. So while you’re licking your wounds, there is a woman I love inside who is falling apart because of what  _ you  _ said. What  _ you  _ did. So you can either go try and fix this or get on the first flight home.”

***

Abby takes a fortifying breath before she steps through your front door.

“Clarke?” she calls softly.

In the time that you spent reading her rights, your family has managed to clean the entire place and even put Octavia to bed on the couch.

“She's in her room,” Indra comments, wiping the pot she used to make dinner. “Raven is laying with her.”

You nod and guide Abby to her closed door. She stops just before, eyes falling to a tiny canvas tucked behind a potted plant on the console table. It’s a small painting of the backside of a man and child. Blonde hair for both figures. It’s tiny and it’s hidden and you see the warring emotions in Abby's eyes, knowing the reason she’s absent from the canvas. Absent from Clarke’s life. Abby places the painting back onto the table, and with a shuddering breath, opens the door.

“Clarke?” She calls.

You hear the tiny gasp and steadying breath from your girlfriend. “Yeah?”

It’s totally dark in the room aside from the sunlight filtering through the spaces of the curtains.

Clarke’s eyes skip right past your mother to you, red rimmed and already swollen. Her head turns ever so minutely into the pillow in shame, and she struggles to let go of Raven's hand as she tries to disentangle herself from behind. 

Raven presses a kiss to her hair and manages to free herself, slipping past you with an impressed nod.

Abby sits at the end of the bed, fingers twirling nervously as she looks around the darkness pretending that she can see the decorations in the room.

“You’re very talented,” Abby says without preamble, and you try your best to not roll your eyes.

Clarke’s eyes are still focused on you, and you know better than to leave them alone no matter how much Abby wishes for it, so you continue to lean against the door jamb, sending a signal to Clarke that you’re there to hold her up should this go south. 

She doesn’t respond to her mother.

“You - I -,” Abby sighs and she lets her head drop. “I’m sorry. For what I said. For how I acted.”

“Why did you come?” Clarke asks, her voice rough from crying.

Abby's silence nearly lasts too long. “I missed you.”

The scoff from Clarke’s throat cuts the air roughly. You wince even though it’s not directed to you.

“I did,” Abby scrambles to say. She sighs. “I did. I do. I always have, I just -,” she sighs again. “There really isn’t any reason that I can give you to explain away my choices.”

“I’m your  _ daughter _ ,” Clarke whispers, the words falling from her lips in a pained, gut wrenching way. The word tasting bitter on her tongue because it’s been years of that word not being enough - of her not being enough for her mother’s love.

Abby nods, knowing there’s nothing to say that could make it better. 

Clarke sits up in her bed, wiping at her eyes roughly and taking a deep breath. Her shoulders tense. “I’m your fucking  _ daughter  _ and you threw me away. You just gave up on me after dad died.”

“No, I -,”

“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” Clarke snaps. The tears are pouring out of her eyes now. “This isn’t even about me stripping. You could never even look at me after dad died. You couldn’t bare to be in the same room with me, you’ve never been there for me, but you’ve made all these judgements and made it seem like I was a fuck up because of reasons I can’t even understand.”

“I was grieving!” Abby contends. “I lost my  _ husband!” _

_ “ _ And I lost  _ both  _ of my parents.”

Abby's jaw snaps shut.

“I lost my dad. My best friend. I was only sixteen, and my dad was gone. And then you were gone too. And you know who was there? Finn. He was there to warp my mind and convince me that he was what I  _ needed _ . And when I finally got away from him, got away from the abuse, thank  _ fuck _ I had Raven to give me a couch to sleep on. And Bellamy to help put him away. And every guy that wanted a little bit of company to help me get back on my  _ own _ feet. I had everyone. Everyone but  _ you _ . I needed  _ you _ , but you abandoned me, too.”

Your throat feels tight with the pain in your girlfriends words.

“ _ Why?”  _ She croaks. “ _ Why wasn’t I ever enough for you _ ?”

Abby just shakes her head, it falls into her hands as she’s wracked with sobs, and Clarke is no better.

The elder Griffin just mumbles apologies over and over as she loses her battle with composure, and the shine of Clarke’s blue eyes in the shadows is enough to make your heart break. She takes a shuddering breath after what feels like a full minute of silently crying behind her mother and whispers, “I forgive you, for whatever it’s worth.”

Abby sniffles and wipes at her eyes, nodding and trying her best to gather her wits.

Clarke’s eyes find yours. “I forgive you because I just want to be done with this. With  _ you _ .” She emphasizes, and you feel the slap that the words land across Abby’s face.

Abby turns and immediately clutches at Clarke’s hands, startling the blonde to look at her. “Good, that’s okay. I don’t blame you,” she babbles. “I  _ want  _ you to be happy.” She lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’m  _ so sorry _ that I didn’t contribute to that.”

Clarke’s jaw clenches rhythmically. 

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers again. “I want to be there - be here - I want to be in your life, Clarke. I can’t - I know I can’t fix it, but I want to try. To earn your trust. To be a part of your life, however you want me to be. I’m sorry.”

Clarke swallows, but the tears fall anyway. “I need time. I can’t even promise you that I want you in my life.”

Abby nods again and again, wiping her face fruitlessly. “Yes, of course, I -,” she clears her throat and hurries to stand. “I’m in town for the conference - not that you have to see me - I just - I’m here. You have my number.”

Clarke nods and looks to you, and you shift noisily against the doorframe.

Abby looks up to you and wipes her eyes again before standing and gathering her purse.

You close the door to Clarke’s room and ignore the fact that your entire family jumps back into motion to pretend they weren’t just listening in to that gut wrenching moment.

You walk Abby to the entrance of the building in silence while she tries to stop the leaking from her eyes. She turns and hugs you tightly while your arms stay locked at your sides. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes as she backs away. “Thank you, Lexa. Thank you for all you’ve done. Thank you.” She hurries away after that, leaving you speechless.

When you re-enter Clarke’s apartment everyone is getting their coats and shoes on to leave. Octavia gives you a dopey smile and you let out a wet laugh. “Tell Clarke we love her very much,” Indra says after a tight squeeze to your shoulders. “And we love you, too.”

You crawl into the bed behind Clarke once they’ve all left, wrapping your arm around her waist and tucking your head into the back of her neck. She sighs and turns, burying her face into your shoulder and lets out what you think is years worth of abandonment and pain in full body sobs.

“I’m right here,” you whisper soothingly, and she grips you tighter to her. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reassure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The angst is real.


	18. Chapter 18 - Clarke

The morning after the dinner party - the biggest failure of a party (and you’re a stripper that's been thrown up on at a few bachelor parties) - with your head pounding and mouth tasting like you had stuffed your cheeks full of cotton, all you want to do was carry on like nothing had happened. You want to move on with your life and forget the disappointment of making a grave mistake in letting your mom back into your life, even if it was just for one night.

You just want to forget.

Lexa, on the other hand, has her own ideas. “Are you okay?” She asks for what felt like the hundredth time. From the second you had woken to the middle of the day, she kept tiptoeing around you, treating you like at any moment you were going to fray at the edges and fall apart.

So, eventually, you did. There was a maelstrom of negative thoughts flying around inside your skull since the second you opened your eyes, and you were getting no respite from feeling that way with Lexa looking at you the way she was. Looking at you like you were just as broken as you felt. Looking at you like you were just as volatile as  _ him _ . You don’t know how to voice that all you want to do is  _ forget _ what your mom said, and what she couldn’t say - what she didn’t  _ want  _ to say. You just want to forget that it even happened, so you snap. 

You end up fighting with her, screaming and shouting and saying things you know you would never mean and would never voice aloud if you could even twist your thoughts to be that horrific, repeating the things Finn had once said to you. You repeat the slurs and the slanders that he told everyone that would listen about you. You know that the words you’re saying make no sense to throw at your girlfriend - they’re not even directed at Lexa, but you just feel so… so  _ raw.  _ So raw, so confused, in so much pain and so  _ worthless _ .

It has taken Lexa months to convince you otherwise, and seconds for you to fall back to square one. Seconds for every cruel word Finn spoke to you, every sharp dismissal from your mother and every empty memory of your dad to overwhelm you into pushing away the person you needed more than anything else. 

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Lexa being Lexa takes every blow you deliver with poise and grace, the love in her eyes never wavering even as you start to see spots from hyperventilating. It makes it even worse. Your heart burns in your throat and you feel more exposed than ever before because she's not listening to you. She’s not following the script you’ve imagined in your head.

You call yourself a stupid whore and tell Lexa to leave and never come back. She stares at you, green eyes searching for what, you don't know, imploring you to feel something other than the hollowness of your stomach.

When you ask her to leave again, she complies, kissing you on the forehead with words dying on the tip of her tongue as she walks past. It takes everything inside of you - every dark and twisted emotion to remind you that you’re not good enough to reach out for her hand.

And just like every other hurricane in existence, the destruction that those thoughts left inside your chest has you feeling off balance, unmoored, truly broken.

Raven walks in that night - you know Lexa sent her because she has a spare key, and sighs. The canvases are off the wall, there are broken plates and shattered glass all around you. You can’t even look at her, but she doesn't ask you to, just sits with you on the floor of your kitchen as you drink an entire bottle of whisky and subsequently throw up everything that you had in your stomach (which wasn’t much). She holds your hair back, and reminds you of how bad of a bitch you were to have accomplished so much on your own. She plats your hair while you cry on the phone with Lexa, doesn’t interrupt or try to take the phone away as you mumble incoherently to your silent girlfriend.

When you woke up alone in your bed the next morning, there is a quiche on your doorstep with a note:

_ you must eat something. _

 

  * _Indra_



 

followed by a scribbled note beside it which you think was from Octavia:

_ nothing but your tits should keep you down. _

Cowed by your behaviour and complete overreaction, you drink again because you’re used to punishing yourself this way. It’s laughable, how much you’ve helped Lexa face her demons. How strong you pretended to be until you finally were thrust into a moment where your worlds collided and the past proved to you just how weak you truly are.

By the time dinner rolls around (you think), Anya barges in and goads you into trying to physically fight her. She calls you Blondie and tries to antagonize you. When it doesn’t work, she starts talking about Lexa in a way that your sober mind knows that she doesn’t mean. You immediately snap, trying to throw a sloppy punch, only so she could wrap you up from behind in what you thought would be a chokehold but was really a hug. The tightest and most sincere hug you could have ever imagined coming from the elder Woods. She holds on until you crack at the seams and spew every harsh thought about yourself, citing a few memorized statements once spoken by Finn. She holds you while you say Lexa shouldn’t love you; that you don’t deserve her. She holds you tighter until you stop struggling and fall to the couch in her arms, calls you a ‘fucking idiot’ while you weep and weep and weep. 

On the third day, a rain soaked Lexa appears at your door and you are convinced that you are still drunk from the day before. Her eyes are red rimmed, dark bags underneath them letting you know that she was no better in these past few days without you.

“I can't be away from you right now,” she says as she pushes herself into your apartment. You don't fight her because your mind is still too slow from the abuse you’ve given it in the past few days to comprehend what is happening and if Lexa is really, truly here. 

Lexa finally looks at you after a moment of pacing back and forth. A moment where you note that she's wearing motorcycle boots and her leather jacket and she’s clutching to her helmet in a way that makes your throat clog up because - wasn't it - 

There is a loud crack of thunder outside of your window and your eyes immediately well with tears until they spill over. 

“You’re soaked,” is all you can muster.

Lexa’s eyes are filled with guilt when she looks at you - finally looks at you, her eyes unable to hide the fact that she knows what her being here right now means.

You wonder how badly she wants to hurt you to drive in the rain - in a thunderstorm.

You think you deserve it, though. The fear of losing her.

“You rode your bike in this weather.” It comes out so softly that you momentarily wonder if she even heard you until she drops her helmet and paces right up to you, hands hovering all over your body but not close enough to touch you. The closeness sears your skin anyway. 

She lets her hands fall and her eyes wander over your face - everywhere but your eyes.

“You-you-,” tears start to flow down your cheeks as the destruction of her broken body flashes before your eyes, lying somewhere on a street corner because she wiped out in the rain trying to get to  _ you _ . You  _ worthless, pitiful _ -

Soft fingers press against your cheeks, wiping the tears as they fall. “I’m sorry,” she whispers back. She tilts your head so your eyes can meet, and you want to drown in the seafoam peering back at you guiltily but resolutely.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. I didn’t mean to scare you - I didn't think, I -,” she shakes her head and takes a step back. Your skin instantly feels cold. “I can't function knowing how much you’re hurting and not being here. I tried to give you space. I asked Anya and Raven to come because you shouldn’t have had to deal with anything alone, even if you hated me I’d still try to find a way to protect you because I love you, and I just needed to know you were okay. God, Clarke, I’m so sorry I left. I just - I couldn’t stand here and listen to you talk about yourself that way. I couldn’t breathe knowing that I haven’t convinced you that you’re - I’m sorry that I forced you to invite your mother over. I’m sorry that I created an entire conference just to get her here to begin with. I know it was selfish, and I know that it was because I miss my own mom, and I never want you to know that kind of pain, but it was selfish. And I know you don't want me here, but -,”

You blink as she rambles, confused and upset that she is apologizing for anything at all. She didn’t do anything. “I do,” you cut off. Your mind is still too hazy with pain and lack of sleep and a hangover to process the other words, but above all else, you know for a fact that you want Lexa. You never want her to leave again. You shouldn’t have asked her to leave in the first place.

She stops and looks at you, her mouth open and gaping like she lost her entire train of thought because you didn’t fight the fact that you want her here. She  _ actually  _ thought there was a moment in time where you didn't want her, and the hollow pit in your stomach grows and grows. You think that if there is one more minute alone with your thoughts that it might just consume you whole.

“I need you. I want you. I’m - I’m…” Your head shakes as your heart hammers in your chest. The world trembles beneath you from too many tears spilled and too little food eaten. You don’t know the words to explain what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling. 

You stretch out your hand to her only to let it drop to your side as the crushing weight of the past few days weighs on you. Her soggy clothes drip onto the floor in your hallway, and your only thought is how could she love you so much that she would risk her life to be with you? How could she love  _ you  _ that much? How do  _ you  _ deserve it?

“I’m hurting. I’m hurting so much, Lexa and I don’t know how to stop.” It's the most honest thing you’ve said in the past three days, and your voice squeaks when it breaks to the tears yet again, a hiccup escaping your throat painfully. 

Before you can even start to sob your way into hyperventilating, strong arms are around your shoulders and soft fingers are brushing the hairs on your neck.

“Why am-m I n-not good e-enough?” You choke out into her shoulder.

“Oh, baby, you are. You are good enough. You’re  _ good _ .”

The words following that are the same as before, repeated affirmations from the lips of the girl you love most, but all you’re able to respond with are a garbled mess of tears and despair. 

She holds you gently even while you’re clutching to her soaked t-shirt. As you stain it with your tears, she promises to make you see how much she loves you and how important you are. She promises to filter reality from the destructive construct that's been in your mind since you were young. She promises to love you even when you can’t figure out how to do it yourself. She presses you against the wall and holds you until you are encased in her strength and can only think of  _ Lexa, Lexa, Lexa. _

It took three weeks after that to feel normal again. Or normal enough to not burst into tears every time you let your brain get away from you for longer than thirty seconds. But, of course, Lexa is by your side every step of the way. She wraps you in fuzzy blankets and dotes on you; writes affirmations on sticky notes and repeats them with you; brings you to the gym to keep you distracted; drives you to and from the club and sits at the bar with Harper while you wander around in your street clothes refilling drinks and cleaning the stage. Bellamy didn’t ask why you aren’t working, you assume because Raven filled him in, he lets you choose the set lists and offers for you to just come in and escape.

And two months later you finally, finally felt like you were worth enough to endure another chance at talking to your mother. Lexa doesn't push at all, just asks why you want to, and the answer is surprisingly simple.

You want closure. 

You don't want to  _ forget _ , you want closure. You want to remember. You want to remember what it’s like to feel like yourself again, the self that doesn’t need her mother's approval. The self that created the beautiful life that you have and all the things you’re grateful to enjoy. Your friends, your home… Lexa. Your life brought you Lexa.

Abby offers to drive back into the city to meet you, even when you protested against it, but she is insistent. 

So, that’s how you find yourself at a breakfast place, nervously picking at the sundress you’re wearing while waiting for the woman who birthed you to show up. The thought of having your mother in your apartment - in what you’ve come to recognize is your safe space is too much for you, even if Lexa offered to be there, so you offer to meet your mom at the cafe by your house - a place you hardly frequent, so if the memory is tainted it won't hurt as much. You also were afraid that neither of you would be able to make it through the meeting without blowing up. At least you hoped the public place would help you refrain from crying.

You check your phone for the millionth time in the last ten minutes. You’re ten minutes early and debating on just getting up and leaving before your mother could arrive. It would be enough to say that you tried and you just couldn’t do it, but there’s a text from Lexa with the sweetest sentiments and a reminder that no matter what happens, you’re going to come home to her. 

You’re completely startled when you hear a clearing of the throat from your left. You look up to see cautious eyes glancing down at the phone in your hand and you realize you’re clenching it a little too hard, the creaking of the plastic between white knuckles loud enough for your mother to hear.

“Hello, Clarke.”

“Hi,” you respond.

Abby gestures by way of asking to sit and you roll your eyes.

She clears her throat again as she sits, tucking her purse into the seat beside her and letting her eyes dart around the establishment. “No Lexa?” She questions once she has her napkin settled on her lap, her hands wringing over it.

“No,” you sigh. “Just me.” You can’t begin to hide the sadness in your voice in just those two words.

“Just you is perfect in itself,” Abby responds, startling you with the sincerity. She sends you a hopeful smile that you think you return, but realize you’ve just grimaced instead when your mother’s own smile falls. 

The silence stretches as you both awkwardly look around the restaurant again, as though the key to making it through this breakfast without screaming is somewhere in the vicinity.

“How are you?” Abby asks quietly.

“Good,” you respond briskly. 

When you’re met with silence, you sigh and shake your head. You’re not going to get any closure if you can’t keep the defensiveness at bay. “How was - how was the drive?” you ask. “Thanks for coming this far,” you add.

Abby’s eyes light up. It's in that moment that you see just how sunken in her features are compared to last time. You note the worry lines and the dark circles that weren’t present before, and a part of you feels satisfaction that she feels just as shitty as you do. Abby has always managed to carry herself with an air of cold and aloofness that you never quite managed to break through, but on the other side of the table today, you’re able to see the sad widow - the estranged mother trying to find her footing along the precipice of loneliness.  

“It was worth it,” your mother comments earnestly, a nervous smile gracing her lips. 

You let out a resigned sigh, “Not to cut to the chase or anything -,”

“It’s okay, I know you probably have a lot of questions, and justified resentment.”

You stare at her for a long moment. “...I just want to know why you decided to reach out now? It’s not like you’ve never had conferences in the city before. You’ve been here probably twenty times since I’ve moved out here but I’ve never heard from you. What changed?”

Abby shrugs, eyes still darting around like Lexa would magically appear to diffuse the tension in the air. “I was scared.”

“Of what?” you press.

“You. What I had done to you. What I had turned you into.”

You raise your brow with a hum - not needing to say anything to let her know that you don’t disagree that shutting you out of her life definitely did something to you.

“I, umm, I ran into Finn’s mother at the grocery. She had mentioned offhandedly that he had come home some time ago and was in jail, so I… I can't tell you how relieved I was to hear that things between you two were over.”

You furrow your brow further, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth and biting down hard to try and deflect from any thoughts of Finn. 

Abby’s hand slides across the table and she covers yours with her own. “Honey, it’s not why - I don't…” she takes in a deep breath. “It’s not about Finn. And it's not even to do with you stripping if I’m really honest. Stripping was just the one thing I was able to cling to - the thing I could  _ blame  _ instead of myself. I was selfish and I didn’t want to take the blame that was rightfully mine. Or the responsibility. I don't know what kept me away other than the fact that I was a coward. Everytime I looked at you, I saw Jake, and I couldn’t bring myself to deal with losing him the first time, let alone every time I looked at you, and I just let it fester because I am a coward. I don’t blame you if you never want to speak to me again, but when I came into the city this time, I just needed to know that you turned out okay - that you turned out like your father, and not like me.” Abby swallows and her eyes fall to the floor in a moment of deprecation. “That I didn’t ruin you.” 

“Let’s just…” you sigh, trying to give yourself a moment to make sense of what your mom just said. “Let’s just take responsibility for our own actions. You don’t need to dwell on it and neither do I. I made my life what it is now, and I’m happy. Do I wish you were there when Finn was giving me black eyes? Yes.”

Your mom flinches so hard you feel like you just slapped her directly. Except, you don’t have it in you to mince your words.

“But, I ran away from you just as much as you ran away from me. I didn’t want to hear you telling me what I could and couldn’t do. But, regardless of all of this, I would still be stripping. Just so you know. I did it before I met Finn, and even when he tried to… stripping is something I like. I enjoy it. It's not something I did because of anything other than that. And I’m glad, because it - I - I have Lexa now, because of it. And I’m doing well for myself. I turned out okay. I’m great, actually.”

Your face shifts into a smile because, yeah, you really are great. You have your demons, your moments where the walls feel too close, but what you’ve accomplished - a job you like, chosen family,  _ love _ \- it's great.

Abby gives you what must be the first genuine smile she’s ever given another human being in the last twelve years. Her eyes crinkle in the corners and you can actually feel the beaming of the sun from the intensity of it. “She’s a great girl. The plans that she and Anya have to help the city… we’re lucky to have such a visionary trying to right the wrongs of her father’s company.”

“She’s incredible.” You think of the soft way she woke you this morning, her hair curtaining you from the sunlight as she kissed your cheeks to rouse you from slumber. The way she let you hold her hand throughout your entire morning routine - even standing vigil as you brushed your teeth, too scared to let her go and chicken out of the meeting with your mom. The way she kissed under each eye and whispered how much she loved you and everything you were. 

“I love her, mom,” you confirm quietly.

“Oh, honey, I know.” she squeezes your hand that she surprisingly still holds tightly in her own. “She loves you too, very much. She looks at you like...” She shakes her head. “...I’m just so happy for you.”

After that, breakfast turns out to be more pleasant than your nerves would have let you believe was possible. Your mom talks about the initiatives at work - some of the kids she’s run across that reminded her of you, mundane activities you both have in common, and you find yourself spilling your guts about anything to do with Lexa. When the conversation hedges towards your own work, your mom - with a fortifying breath - encourages you to tell her stories; to explain things about the industry that few people knew. She actually listens with rapt attention to the complexities of managing the emotions of your clients. Handling their ego and their insecurities in what may be to most an unconventional, but highly effective way. 

By the time your plates are cleared away, there's a new, temporary bridge built over the old ruins of the one that was destroyed long ago. And you realize that maybe you didn’t need to  _ forget  _ anything. That closure doesn't have to mean that you would never see her again, but closing the pain of the past with a chance to create a new, permanent bridge with your mom. 

Abby shifts nervously as you ask for the cheque, twirls her wedding band around and around as you both wait in the sudden silence.

“Thank you again for… for meeting me,” you say quietly, trying to soften the blow of the goodbye that looms minutes away. 

She reaches for your hand which you willingly give. Insists to pay for the meal, and when you stand to part ways, she pulls your hand back towards her and presses something hard into your palm. Words start tumbling out of her mouth before you can even turn back to look at her. “Your father proposed to me with this ring.”

Your entire body freezes, eyes widen as you look at the lump - the ring that is in your hand. They flick to her now empty ring finger and back again to your mother’s watery eyes.

“You look at Lexa the way he used to look at me, and Lexa looks at you the same way. - like you single handedly hung every star in the sky.” She laughs then, “Your dad also told off grandma when we didn’t agree on my career aspirations. ‘ _ How can you be a mother if you’re always working, Abigail? How can you have a home?’. _ When he told her off, I knew in that moment that he would be my forever, and hopefully I know you well enough still to know that I think you found yours.”

“Mom, I -,” you can’t form any words beyond that, your eyes still glued to the ring in your hand as the wheels in your head turn.

_ Forever. _

Abby lays a hand on your shoulder, squeezing once. “You deserve so much happiness, Clarke. I just - I want nothing more than that for you.”

You can’t see your surroundings when your mom pulls you in for a bone crushing hug. One that you return in earnest, even as the tears spill down your cheeks. 

After you part ways with your mom, your fingers continue to play with the ring in your hands. You sit behind the steering wheel to try and catch your breath, twirling the metal ring between your own fingers. Your phone chimes, catching your attention.

_ You are smart and kind and an incredible woman, Clarke Griffin.  _

_ I am lucky to have you. _

_ Do you know where the frying pan is? _

_ Drive safe.  _

_ I love you so much, I am going to snuggle the shit out of you when you get home. _

_ I made bacon. _

Tears spill down your cheeks as you read the messages, laughing and thinking just one thought:

Forever with Lexa.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly: yay, another update. We're on the last stop of the angst train for now.  
> Secondly: The trauma developed from years of estrangement from your mother will have you all kinds of fucked up, hence the angst kept on coming. Also, pain will make things you do and say not make sense, so Clarke doesn't necessarily acknowledge some things, and focuses on others that have nothing to do with whats happening at the present time (repeating Finn's words), and everyone says half sentences. Basically, this chapter is a clusterfuck of Clarke's emotions that she needs to face head on, so I'm sorry if it's not neat and tidy. But, it gets better at the end, which is where I ultimately wanted to get to with all this.  
> Thirdly: We're getting closer to the end, and hopefully I can keep my creativity going and bag out the rest of this... although... I don't really want this to end :'(


	19. Chapter 19 - Lexa

You stare at her lips, unable to comprehend what she’s saying. It’s words that you didn’t even think she knew, let alone thought about herself.

Your heart stutters to a stop as the same lips that speak soft wonders to you - the same lips that map your body with care - spew venom directed at their owner.

Your throat is thick with emotion, but you force a crackling “Clarke,”past your lips, pleading with her to focus, but there’s a vacant look in her eyes. The blue is so dull that it almost looks grey. “Baby,” your voice cracks again, and she flinches, grabbing her arms tight enough to leave crescent moons behind.

Her walls are up and she's sealed herself off.

She calls herself a stupid whore with so much vitriol that you understand where she learned these phrases; who she learned these phrases from; how she learned to internalize them after being inundated with the same words over and over and over.

She thinks she’s worthless.  The thought suffocates you. 

Clarke is lost. She’s lost who she is. She’s lost inside her own mind, the small boxes she’s built over the years to house these horrid words ripping open all at once and flooding her with the pain she’s escaped once before, but she’s lost her footing and stumbled right back in.

You want to reach for her. You want to tell her how much you love her, that what she thinks isn’t true, but your heart is aching because the blue eyes glaring at you are hollow and empty, the shade of someone else. They’re the colour of a woman who abandoned her and a boy who saw an opportunity.  They’re void of the sparkling mischief, the warm embrace, the seductive swagger that make up Clarke.

It physically hurts you to leave her, but you know that you need to think, call in backup, call in reinforcements to get to the woman you love. You’re dialing Raven’s number before you even make it to your motorcycle. “Clarke needs you,” is all you say.

“Are you okay?” Raven asks in response. When you don’t reply, Raven sighs. “On it. Anya’s waiting for you.”

***

Your sister sits quietly by your side, smoke billowing from her cigarette that she only ever lights when she’s stressed out. “Indra said she’s going to make her a care package. Octavia’s helping her.” 

Your laugh is sad.  _ You  _ are sad. “I shouldn’t have invited Abby. I shouldn’t have held that  _ fucking _ conference. I shouldn’t have insisted.” Your hands are tangling in your hair and pulling at your scalp.

Anya takes stock of your response and hums in response.

“What?” You glance at your sister, brow furrowed.

“Clarke’s in pain,” she shrugs, flicking the cigarette a little too hard to just be trying to ash it. “It’s not your fault that Clarke’s trapped in her pain.”

“I pushed her.”

“You didn’t. Clarke is one of the toughest women I know. She's just outnumbered by her ghosts and I don’t know what - how to - she needs help to even the fight. I want to help her even the fight.”

You’re baffled, but your tears fall nonetheless when you realize how much your sister has come to love your girlfriend. How your dilapidated family has all come to the defence of her. 

***

Raven looks as exhausted as you feel the next morning, and you share a lingering hug in support and gratitude of one another. Indra swings by before she heads over to Clarke’s apartment and she checks you over silently, her eyes scanning to see if you’ve eaten, if you’ve bathed, if you’re taking care of yourself all without saying a single word. 

Octavia leaves you no less than thirty three messages, all some variance of an offer to train or fight or just to punch a cement wall if you need to.

When Anya comes back that night with tired eyes and a sad smile, you can’t take it anymore. You slam your hands down in frustration, refusing to let your family fight for Clarke’s soul while you hide in the background trying to regroup. You don't need to regroup. You need to barrel past the demons in her head. You need to be there _. _

***

The second you see her crushed expression, you feel the coldness of the rain on your skin. Her eyes are just as hollow as three days prior, and you wonder what it will take for you to bring her back. You see the fear as it trickles up Clarke’s body when her eyes trail from the top of your rain soaked hair to your muddy boots. You see the shift and the implosion inside of her chest when a fat drop of rain falls from your helmet. You nearly grab her to stop her from falling over - sure that the way she shakes is a sign that she can’t stay upright anymore.

You never wanted to hurt her. You never wanted to scare her. You just couldn’t stand to not be there helping to fight her own monsters.

You ramble your thoughts out - muddled and hurried and confused and unable to stop yourself from saying everything you’ve felt. 

You feel like the crack of lightning passes right through you - lights you up from the tip of your nose to your toes when she tells you that she does, in fact, want you here. That she does need you. It’s the first glimpse of the girl you’re madly in love with that you’ve seen. 

She falls apart not a second later and you cling to her, keep her steady as she tries to build herself back up. You fight every demon with soft hands and gentle words. Every blank stare with a reminder to come back, to not get lost in her mind. It takes a while. It takes long nights plagued with nightmares and sweat soaked sheets, longer days with bouts of lost gazes, but she gets there. She works mentally and physically to fight back on her own - to reclaim the person she wants to be.

You’ve never been more in awe and in love with her.

She clutches to your hand the morning that she meets her mother, palms sweaty and trembling.

“You’re going to be okay.”

“You don’t know that.”

You pull her into your chest, uncaring of the toothpaste that splashes against your clothes from the jarring motion. You trail your finger over her nose and along her jaw. “I do. Even if you don’t. And if you don’t feel like you are, I’ll be right here. I will come to you if you want and I’ll bring you home. To me. To your safe space.”

“Home to you sounds nice,” she hums, letting her head fall to your shoulder for a second before she spits the toothpaste and rinses her mouth.

You kiss her no less than twenty times before she leaves, punctuating each peck with an affirmation. And you watch with pride as she straightens her spine and chooses to leave - to face the scary thing even if her hands do tremble.

***

She comes home happy. Giddy, almost, and you feel the pressure in your chest release at the sight of an unrestrained smile.

“Are you going to call her?”

Clarke shrugs one shoulder, the other currently buried between your snuggled bodies on the couch. “I don’t know. It was just good to get it all out there. I don’t want to have to put any obligations on this. I’ve spent so many years without her and I want to actually want her in my life, you know?”

Your lips are soft against her temple. “I know.”

“She thinks you’re great, by the way. Thinks you're a visionary.”

You can’t help but smile into Clarke’s hair. “Abby Griffin giving me her motherly approval?” you ask.

Clarke stiffens for a fraction of a second before she melts back into you. “I think she very much approves.”

“Good, because I really, really love her daughter.”

There’s the blue of Clarke’s eyes when she’s mischievous: a blue that sparkles like the sun hitting the clouds - free and light. And fun. It’s the wind whipping through your hair when you’re riding your bike. It’s the breeze that sends shivers down your spine. 

There’s also the blue of her eyes when she’s aroused: dark and inviting. Tempting you to become entangled in her web of seduction. The blue lures you into her orbit, wraps you up in a haze of lust until you’re pliant and willing to give her exactly what she needs.

Then there’s the blue when Clarke is sad: tumultuous, dark, a storm raging inside of her that drowns, thrashes against the windows and shakes your entire world. 

And there’s a blue of her eyes when she’s happy: tranquil, peaceful like an untouched lagoon. Alone and unbothered with the surrounding world. Crisp and quiet, a perfect getaway that lures you from the troubles in your mind.

But, the blue you see right now: the slow creeping, powerful, but not overwhelming feeling of being submerged into the ocean. A giant wave coming toward you, but faith to let go and let yourself drift along with it. It’s intoxicating and calming. It pulls you into its depths with a gentle hand and surrounds you with a quiet intensity that leaves you breathless, but full of life. That’s the blue you love the most.

There’s a quiet moment that passes between you both. Clarke’s eyes fall to your lips, lingering there as the heaviness passes between you. The blue makes your breath catch in your throat, and you lean forward even as your lungs start to burn. 

Your tongue swipes across her bottom lip, pulling a sigh from her lungs that you greedily inhale. She bites in response. It’s the teasing build up of what’s to come, and the way slow hands creep across your legs has you shivering. 

You pull the blonde onto your lap, fingers gripping down onto her hips in excitement. It’s your favourite way to be with Clarke - her grounding weight and the warmth of her. It makes your head spin.

Your hands roam the soft skin underneath her shirt, tracing and lightly scratching their way across curves, counting each rib and sparking goosebumps to come alive wherever your hands pass even before they pinch and roll her nipples.

Clarke laves at your neck with her tongue, the sweet smell of her mouth and the feel of her cheek brushing against your face making you feel more intoxicated than any alcohol could. 

You dip your hand below the waistband of her track pants, knowing you won’t find anything underneath and she bites into your neck when cold fingers meet wet heat. Her lips dance along her collarbone, tasting and teasing, leaving you feeling an overwhelming need to connect with her. You bite the shell of her ear as your fingers lazily pass through her folds, pulling each whimper and gasp from her lungs into your own, swallowing the sounds into your rumbling chest - into your heart. “God, you feel so good,” you whisper.

Your free hand teases at her nipples underneath her shirt, rolling the pebbled flesh between your forefinger and your thumb, feeling the arousal it creates between her thighs coating your fingers. 

She whimpers your name, one hand balling your shirt between her fingers while the other pulls your neck towards her for more, deeper, harder kisses. She speaks without speaking. Asks without asking, and you’re so attuned to her body, that you know what she wants.

Your hand slips further down, two fingers pressing into her opening and you revel in the resounding groan that she releases against your lips. You can’t help but smile as Clarke lets her head fall to your shoulder to rest, knowing this will inevitably be a slow ascent to orgasm. Clarke loves it hard and fast, but you know she’s just as keen to enjoy the build up that comes with slow, the way her entire body warms until she’s sweating, and how each of her limbs flex and release as the pressure mounts, how her lip gets swollen from her own teeth digging in to stop herself from her asking you to just ravage her. She loves the tease. You love the way that softness can absolutely undo her the way that roughness can’t. You love the vulnerability. 

You love  _ her _ .

Your fingers explore, your palm rubs messily, and Clarke’s whimpers become breathier. She pleads your name and mumbles incoherently when your fingers hit the spot that she just  _ loves.  _ You can feel how close she is to falling off the edge, and you let your cheek rest against her head as your fingers move more efficiently, the pinpointed pressure inside in combination with the friction of your palm outside.

She scrabbles at your shirt, clenching the material with needy fingers, her breathing so ragged that you know she’s  _ right there _ .

“Can you look at me?” you whisper against the shell of her ear.

She pants and nods, lifting her head to look at you with half lidded eyes, her entire body trembling with the mounting orgasm about to explode inside of her. 

You kiss her open mouth and meet the ocean blue eyes. “I love you.” 

Her orgasm doesn’t rip through her like it does when you’re fucking her. This orgasm lingers and you watch the way it shatters her in stages. The way it makes her skin prickle first, tiny beads of sweat pushing onto her skin as the goosebumps awaken; her eyes dilate, the black swallowing the ocean blue; her fingers tremble before the earthquake makes its way to her chest where her breathing gets caught and her moan turns into a silent scream; to her spine when her chest pushes into yours as her back arches; and finally to her core where she spills her excitement all over your hand. She’s left gasping, her head falling back to your shoulder and the sweat cooling her skin as she trembles against you in the aftershocks of her overloaded system.

When hazy, half-lidded eyes find yours once again, the ocean blue crashes into your soul and pulls you under. “I love you, too.”

***

Clarke seems to be happy - maybe happier than ever before, and you’re happier than ever because of it. You feel like you’re floating away in the peace that settles over your relationship.

That’s why it’s disarming when you’re startled out of your slumber, the remnants of whatever nightmare disappearing before you can even recount. 

It’s not an alarm that scares you. There’s no light rousing you through the blinds, no object falling off a table to scare you into wakefulness.

It’s…

You know what it is.

You know what day it is, even if you try to ignore any form of calendar.

You sigh when you see the time. It’s five past three in the morning.

It’s almost that time. 

The air in your lungs seems to escape through a leaky valve. It’s like every inhale is faulty, a leaky balloon that can never stay filled. Tears spring to your eyes as they always do, panic building until you’re on the verge of hyperventilating while time just stops. The shrill sound of your cell phone echoes in the recesses of your mind, and you wonder if you should reach over her to get it, just to be sure that it won't, in fact, go off. Just for the security that it  _ won't.  _

_ It won't, it won't, it won't. _

Warm fingers press against your cheek, and a warm hand lays atop your heart. She traces the pendant your mom gave you through your shirt. “I’ve got you,” she rumbles from beside you, voice thick like molasses from sleep. “I’m right here, love.” She catches the tears that stream down your temple before they fall into your ear. She presses her lips to the corner of your eye and sighs a sympathetic breath against your skin.

“What time is it?” you ask, body already starting to tense. Lungs already burning.

Clarke shifts to look at the watch on her wrist. “Eight fifteen.” She gives you a small smile, testing the waters. 

You try to send a smile, appreciative of her attempt to deflect. “Your watch always says eight fifteen.”

Her shoulder lifts and falls while the fingers of her other hand fiddles with your pendant. “It was the time I first met my dad.”

She sighs and moves infinitesimally closer when a look of confusion passes over your features. “He wasn’t in the delivery room when my mom had me. He was still on his way from work. Some kind of accident or emergency or something that caused him to get stuck. Honestly, I just think he got lost on the way to the hospital. Anyway, apparently he came rushing in like a crazy person and it was eight fifteen when he said his entire world changed. It was eight fifteen when he saw me laying in my moms arms in the hospital bed. And then, every year it was always eight fifteen that he’d wake me on my birthday, and eight fifteen that he’d hold me like he did the first time. And that's the memory I choose to hold onto, not the memory of when he left me behind.”

Clarkes fingers delicately lift the necklace from beneath your shirt and start a rhythm of tangling and untangling in your necklace - sliding the pendant through her fingers to acknowledge your mother, and she acknowledges your loss by continuing to paint your cheeks with soft brushes of her thumb. 

You just stare at her, marvelling at the woman in front of you. Her skin glowing in the soft moonlight, the shadows creating hills and valleys in the sheets that pool around her shoulders. The light catches in her eyes as they dart around your face, sparkling like the night sky. Her hands are warm, her fingers calloused but soft, empathetic and delicate.

“It’s three-sixteen,” she whispers after a long moment of quiet staring; never stopping the strokes of the pads of her fingers; never stopping her soothing embrace in preparation of however you will react.

It's three minutes past the time your mom passed away and it's the first year that you haven't stared at your phone, chasing phantom ringtones and whispered words into insanity. It's the first time that your life continued on right past the moment, even if only for three minutes before the weight of it all sank down onto your shoulders. Because, whether or not you want to admit it, it still hurts just as much, but, it’s been three minutes that you missed your mom without feeling crushed by the weight of her absence. 

It’s been three minutes that Clarke helped you through. It’s that fact that you hold onto when your mind shifts to thoughts of Clarke’s father. Of the time they met. Of the time on her watch. On her broken watch. Of your pendant - a gear piece.

It’s the fact that she kept your world spinning.

It's the fact that time kept moving…

...Time kept moving.

“Is that why you won’t get it fixed?” You're surprised that your voice doesn’t shake, crack as the thought seeps into your every crevice - every inch of your body to completely devour your brain.

She smiles softly at you and shakes her head. “No. My dad liked really intriguing and weird shit. I’ve never found a piece that fits. The time always skips with the pieces that the watchmakers use.”

Time kept moving.

_...It's a gearpiece from a watch...  _

_...the watch can't run without it... _

_...The time won't be consistent... _

_...You need to find someone who runs perfectly alongside you... _

It hits you with startling clarity, your fingers coming up to trace the spokes of the gear piece against your chest, and tangling with Clarke’s fingers in the process. 

“Come with me today. To meet my mom.”

You can see the shadows shift as she smiles at you, nodding against her pillow. Can hear the soft sounds of her readjusting to sit up on her elbow. Can feel the pressure of her lips as they softly press against yours, and you pull her closer to you, letting her head settle on the steady beat of your heart. 

Time ticks by and for the first time in all the years since she’s been gone, you fall back to sleep after three-thirteen.

***

Anya is not even remotely surprised when you show up to the gravesite with Clarke in tow. You’re relieved when you’re being hugged by a quiet, timid Raven, happy that your sister found someone just as stable and unmoving during this time.

Your voice trembles when you introduce Clarke to your mom, your tight grasp on her hand returned in kind. 

“You raised such a beautiful woman, Mrs. Woods,” she comments quietly. “You raised beautiful  _ women _ , but Lexa is definitely my favourite. Thank you for giving me the chance to love her.”

Your tears spill over, a mix of gratitude and love, and the overwhelming sadness of the day inevitably becoming too much, but when the blonde wraps her arm around your waist, you think your mother would be happy that you finally found her - the one who cares for all the spokes - the one who runs perfectly alongside you.

Clarke and Raven step away to speak with Indra while you take a moment with your sisters and your mom. You listen quietly to Anya tell her that she loves Raven, and how unconventional everything has been, and how far the company has come now that it’s out of the clutches of evil. You listen to Octavia tell her about Lincoln, about reconnecting with you, about breaking free of Titus. You hold Octavia and Anya’s hand, and when it's your turn to speak, you only have one thing to let her know.

“Mom, I’m going to marry her.”

There’s no gasp from your siblings. No fanfare whatsoever. They pull you into an encouraging, tight hug. A warm breeze passes, you’re sure it’s your mom wrapping the three of you in an embrace, and you just know that for the first time since she’s gone, you’re all going to be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ICYMI, Lexa’s moms words about the pendant are in chapter 5.
> 
> Amazing how Clarke has a broken watch and Lexa’s most important symbol is a gear.
> 
> Soulmates, bro.


End file.
